^uL^ue^^L^^f-^^o(A^ 


THE    EXILES  - 

AND     OTHER     STORIES 


BY 

RICHARD  HARDING  DAVIS 

'/ 
ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  YORK   AND   LONDON 

HAR  PER     &     BROTHERS 

PUBLISHERS 


CopjTight,  1894,  by  HARPKR  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  reterved. 


TO 

MY  FRIEND 
J.  DAVIS  BRODHEAD 


220842 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

THE    EXILES 1 

THE    WRITING    ON    THE    WALL       ......  67 

THE    RIGHT    OF    WAY 94 

HIS    BAD    ANGEL 121 

THE    BOY    ORATOR    OP    ZEPATA    CITY      ....  154 

THE   ROMANCE   IN   THE   LIFE   OF   HEFTY   BURKE  173 

AN    ANONYMOUS    LETTER    .                                     ...  201 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


RICHARD  HARDING  DAVIS Frontispiece 

'•'  STOPPING    FOR    HALF-HOURS    AT    A    TIME    BEFORE 

A  BAZAAR" • Facing  page  16 

"  '  TO  BE  SHUT  OFF  FROM  ALL  OF  THAT  '  "   .   .  "  "  28 

THE  BOAR-HUNT "  u  40 

EXHIBIT  "  A  " — CHARLECOTE  HOUSE  WITHOUT  THE 

BARRIER "  "  100 

"' YOU   CAN'T   GO   THROUGH   THERE,  SIR !'"       .       .  "  "  106 

THE  ATTACK  ON  THE  BARRIER "  "  110 

"MURRAY  CLUNG  TO  THE  SLEDGE-HAMMER"  .     .  "  "114 

WE  ARRIVED  AT  THE  BRIDGE "  "  118 

"  HOPELESSNESS  AND  REMORSE  WERE  THE  MEAN 
ING   OF   THE    MUSIC" "  "  146 

"THE  GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  JURY  SAT  QUITE  MO 
TIONLESS"    "  "  170 

"' THERE,  NOW,  DON'T  YOU  TAKE  ON  SO '  "     .     .  "  "  172 

"BURKE  WATCHED  HER  WITH  A  DEEP  INTEREST"  "  "  184 

"'l  AM  NOT  GOOD  AT  SAYING  THINGS'".     .     .  "  "  190 

"'DO  YOU  KNOW  THAT  YOU  HAVE  AN  ENEMY?'"  "  "  212 

"VAN    BIBBER     PUT     HIS      HAT     FIRMLY      ON      HIS 

HEAD"      ,  "  "  218 


THE  EXILES,  AND  OTHER  STORIES 


THE  EXILES 


THE  greatest  number  of  people  in  the  world 
prefer  the  most  highly  civilized  places  of  the 
world,  because  they  know  what  sort  of  things 
are  going  to  happen  there,  and  because  they  also 
know  by  experience  that  those  are  the  sort  of 
things  they  like.  A  very  few  people  prefer  bar 
barous  and  utterly  uncivilized  portions  of  the 
globe  for  the  reason  that  they  receive  while  there 
new  impressions,  and  because  they  like  the  unex 
pected  better  than  a  routine  of  existence,  no  mat 
ter  how  pleasant  that  routine  may  be.  But  the 
most  interesting  places  of  all  to  study  are  those 
in  which  the  savage  and  the  cultivated  man  lie 
down  together  and  try  to  live  together  in  unity. 
This  is  so  because  we  can  learn  from  such  places 
just  how  far  a  man  of  cultivation  lapses  into  bar 
barism  when  he  associates  with  savages,  and  how 
far  the  remnants  of  his  former  civilization  will 
have  influence  upon  the  barbarians  among  whom 
he  has  come  to  live. 

There  are  many  such  colonies  as  these,  and 
they  are  the  most  picturesque  plague-spots  on  the 


%  «••/*:  :TH;E  .'tfX'lLES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

globe.  You  will  find  them  in  New  Zealand  and 
at  Yokohama,  in  Algiers,  Tunis,  and  Tangier,  and 
scattered  thickly  all  along  the  South  American 
coast-line  wherever  the  law  of  extradition  obtains 
not,  and  where  public  opinion,  which  is  one  of 
the  things  a  colony  can  do  longest  without,  is  un 
known.  These  are  the  unofficial  Botany  Bays  and 
Melillas  of  the  world,  where  the  criminal  goes  of 
his  own  accord,  and  not  because  his  government 
has  urged  him  to  do  so  and  paid  his  passage  there. 
This  is  the  story  of  a  young  man  who  went  to 
such  a  place  for  the  benefit  he  hoped  it  would  be 
to  his  health,  and  not  because  he  had  robbed  any 
one,  or  done  a  young  girl  an  injury.  He  was  the 
only  son  of  Judge  Henry  Howard  Holcombe,  of 
New  York.  That  was  all  that  it  was  generally 
considered  necessary  to  say  of  him.  It  was  not, 
however,  quite  enough,  for,  while  his  father  had 
had  nothing  but  the  right  and  the  good  of  his 
State  and  country  to  think  about,  the  son  was  fur 
ther  occupied  by  trying  to  live  up  to  his  father's 
name.  Young  Holcombe  was  impressed  by  this 
fact  from  his  earliest  childhood.  It  rested  upon 
him  while  at  Harvard  and  during  his  years  at  the 
law  school,  and  it  went  with  him  into  society  and 
into  the  courts  of  law.  When  he  rose  to  plead  a 
case  he  did  not  forget,  nor  did  those  present  for 
get,  that  his  father  while  alive  hu^  crowded  tho^" 
same  halls  with  silent,  earnest  listeners ;  and 
when  he  addressed  a  mass  -  meeting  at  Cooper 
Union,  or  spoke  from  the  back  of  a  cart  in  the 


THE    EXILES  5 

East  Side,  some  one  was  sure  to  refer  to  the  fact 
that  this  last  speaker  was  the  son  of  the  man  who 
was  mobbed  because  he  had  dared  to  be  an  aboli 
tionist,  and  who  later  had  received  the  veneration 
of  a  great  city  for  his  bitter  fight  against  Tweed 
and  his  followers. 

Young  Holcombe  was  an  earnest  member  of 
every  reform  club  and  citizens'  league,  and  his 
distinguished  name  gave  weight  as  a  director  to 
charitable  organizations  and  free  kindergartens. 
He  had  inherited  his  hatred  of  Tammany  Hall, 
and  was  unrelenting  in  his  war  upon  it  and  its 
handiwork,  and  he  spoke  of  it  and  of  its  immedi 
ate  downfall  with  the  bated  breath  of  one  who, 
though  amazed  at  the  wickedness  of  the  thing  he 
fights,  is  not  discouraged  nor  afraid.  And  he 
would  listen  to  no  half-measures.  Had  not  his 
grandfather  quarrelled  with  Henry  Clay,  and  so 
shaken  the  friendship  of  a  lifetime,  because  of 
a  great  compromise  which  he  could  not  counte 
nance  ?  And  was  his  grandson  to  truckle  and 
make  deals  with  this  hideous  octopus  that  was 
sucking  the  life-blood  from  the  city's  veins?  Had 
he  not  but  yesterday  distributed  six  hundred  circu 
lars,  calling  for  honest  government,  to  six  hundred 
possible  voters,  all  the  way  up  Fourth  Avenue? — 
and  when  some  flippant  one  had  said  that  he  might 
^ave  hired  a  messenger-boy  to  have  done  it  for 
mm  and  so  saved  his  energies  for  something  less 
mechanical,  he  had  rebuked  the  speaker  with  a  re 
proachful  stare  and  turned  away  in  silence. 


6  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

Life  was  terribly  earnest  to  young  Holcombe, 
and  he  regarded  it  from  the  point  of  view  of  one 
who  looks  down  upon  it  from  the  judge's  bench, 
and  listens  with  a  frown  to  those  who  plead  its 
cause.  He  was  not  fooled  by  it ;  he  was  alive  to 
its  wickedness  and  its  evasions.  He  would  tell 
you  that  he  knew  for  a  fact  that  the  window  man 
in  his  district  was  a  cousin  of  the  Tammany  can 
didate,  and  that  the  contractor  who  had  the  clean 
ing  of  the  street  to  do  was  a  brother-in-law  of  one 
of  the  Hall's  sachems,  and  that  the  policeman  on 
his  beat  had  not  been  in  the  country  eight  months. 
He  spoke  of  these  damning  facts  with  the  air  of 
one  who  simply  tells  you  that  much,  that  you 
should  see  how  terrible  the  whole  thing  really 
was,  and  what  he  could  tell  if  he  wished. 

In  his  own  profession  he  recognized  the  trials 
of  law-breakers  only  as  experiments,  which  went 
to  establish  and  explain  a  general  principle.  And 
prisoners  were  not  men  to  him,  but  merely  the 
exceptions  that  proved  the  excellence  of  a  rule. 
Holcombe  would  defend  the  lowest  creature  or 
the  most  outrageous  of  murderers,  not  because 
the  man  was  a  human  being  fighting  for  his  lib 
erty  or  life,  but  because  he  wished  to  see  if  cer 
tain  evidence  would  be  admitted  in  the  trial  of 
such  a  case.  Of  one  of  his  clients  the  judge,  who 
had  a  daughter  of  his  own,  said,  when  he  sen 
tenced  him,  "  Were  there  many  more  such  men 
as  you  in  the  world,  the  women  of  this  land  would 
pray  to  God  to  be  left  childless."  And  when 


THE    EXILES  7 

some  one  asked  Holcombe,  with  ill-concealed  dis 
gust,  how  he  came  to  defend  the  man,  he  replied: 
"  I  wished  to  show  the  unreliability  of  expert  tes 
timony  from  medical  men.  Yes  ;  they  tell  me  the 
man  was  a  very  bad  lot." 

It  was  measures,  not  men,  to  Holcombe,  and  law 
and  order  were  his  twin  goddesses,  and  "  no  com 
promise  "  his  watchword. 

"  You  can  elect  your  man  if  you'll  give  me  two 
thousand  dollars  to  refit  our  club -room  with," 
one  of  his  political  acquaintances  once  said  to 
him.  "We've  five  hundred  voters  on  the  rolls 
now,  and  the  members  vote  as  one  man.  You'd 
be  saving  the  city  twenty  times  that  much  if  you 
keep  Croker's  man  out  of  the  job.  You  know 
that  as  well  as  I  do." 

"The  city  can  better  afford  to  lose  twenty 
thousand  dollars,"  Holcombe  answered,  "  than 
we  can  afford  to  give  a  two-cent  stamp  for  cor 
ruption." 

"All  right,"  said  the  heeler;  "all  right,  Mr. 
Holcombe.  Go  on.  Fight  'em  your  own  way. 
If  they'd  agree  to  fight  you  with  pamphlets  and 
circulars  you'd  stand  a  chance,  sir ;  but  as  long  as 
they  give  out  money  and  you  give  out  reading- 
matter  to  people  that  can't  read,  they'll  win,  and 
I  naturally  want  to  be  on  the  winning  side." 

When  the  club  to  which  Holcombe  belonged 
finally  succeeded  in  getting  the  Police  Commis 
sioners  indicted  for  blackmailing  gambling-houses, 
Holcombe  was,  as  a  matter  of  course  and  of  public 


8  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

congratulation,  on  the  side  of  the  law ;  and  as  As 
sistant  District- Attorney — a  position  given  him  on 
account  of  his  father's  name  and  in  the  hope  that 
it  would  shut  his  mouth — distinguished  himself 
nobly. 

Of  the  four  commissioners,  three  were  con 
victed —  the  fourth,  Patrick  Meakim,  with  ad 
mirable  foresight  having  fled  to  that  country 
from  which  few  criminals  return,  and  which  is 
vaguely  set  forth  in  the  newspapers  as  "  parts 
unknown." 

The  trial  had  been  a  severe  one  upon  the  zeal 
ous  Mr.  Holcombe,  who  found  himself  at  the  end 
of  it  in  a  very  bad  way,  with  nerves  unstrung  and 
brain  so  fagged  that  he  assented  without  question 
when  his  doctor  exiled  him  from  New  York  by 
ordering  a  sea  voyage,  with  change  of  environ 
ment  and  rest  at  the  other  end  of  it.  Some  one 
else  suggested  the  northern  coast  of  Africa  and 
Tangier,  and  Holcombe  wrote  minute  directions 
to  the  secretaries  of  all  of  his  reform  clubs  urging 
continued  efforts  on  the  part  of  his  fellow-work 
ers,  and  sailed  away  one  cold  winter's  morning 
for  Gibraltar.  The  great  sea  laid  its  hold  upon 
him,  and  the  winds  from  the  south  thawed  the 
cold  in  his  bones,  and  the  sun  cheered  his  tired 
spirit.  He  stretched  himself  at  full  length  read 
ing  those  books  which  one  puts  off  reading  until 
illness  gives  one  the  right  to  do  so,  and  so  far  as 
in  him  lay  obeyed  his  doctor's  first  command, 
that  he  should  forget  New  York  and  all  that 


THE    EXILES  9 

pertained  to  it.  By  the  time  he  had  reached  the 
Rock  he  was  up  and  ready  to  drift  farther  into 
the  lazy  irresponsible  life  of  the  Mediterranean 
coast,  and  he  had  forgotten  his  struggles  against 
municipal  misrule,  and  was  at  times  for  hours  to 
gether  utterly  oblivious  of  his  own  personality. 

A  dumpy,  fat  little  steamer  rolled  itself  along 
like  a  sailor  on  shore  from  Gibraltar  to  Tangier, 
and  Holcombe,  leaning  over  the  rail  of  its  quar 
ter-deck,  smiled  down  at  the  chattering  group  of 
Arabs  and  Moors  stretched  on  their  rugs  beneath 
him.  A  half-naked  negro,  pulling  at  the  dates  in 
the  basket  between  his  bare  legs,  held  up  a  hand 
ful  to  him  with  a  laugh,  and  Holcombe  laughed 
back  and  emptied  the  cigarettes  in  his  case  on 
top  of  him,  and  laughed  again  as  the  ship's  crew 
and  the  deck  passengers  scrambled  over  one  an 
other  and  shook  out  their  voluminous  robes  in 
search  of  them.  He  felt  at  ease  with  the  world 
and  with  himself,  and  turned  his  eyes  to  the  white 
walls  of  Tangier  with  a  pleasure  so  complete 
that  it  shut  out  even  the  thought  that  it  was  a 
pleasure. 

The  town  seemed  one  continuous  mass  of  white 
stucco,  with  each  flat  low-lying  roof  so  close  to 
the  other  that  the  narrow  streets  left  no  trace. 
To  the  left  of  it  the  yellow  coast -line  and  the 
green  olive-trees  and  palms  stretched  up  against 
the  sky,  and  beneath  him  scores  of  shrieking 
blacks  fought  in  their  boats  for  a  place  beside 
the  steamer's  companion-way.  He  jumped  into 


10  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

one  of  these  open  wherries  and  fell  sprawling 
among  his  baggage,  and  laughed  lightly  as  a  boy 
as  the  boatman  set  him  on  his  feet  again,  and  then 
threw  them  from  under  him  with  a  quick  stroke  of 
the  oars.  The  high,  narrow  pier  was  crowded  with 
excited  customs  officers  in  ragged  uniforms  and 
dirty  turbans,  and  with  a  few  foreign  residents 
looking  for  arriving  passengers.  Holcombe  had 
his  feet  on  the  upper  steps  of  the  ladder,  and  was 
ascending  slowly.  There  was  a  fat,  heavily  built 
man  in  blue  serge  leaning  across  the  railing  of  the 
pier.  He  was  looking  down,  and  as  his  eyes  met 
Holcombe's  face  his  own  straightened  into  lines 
of  amazement  and  most  evident  terror.  Holcombe 
stopped  at  the  sight,  and  stared  back  wondering. 
And  then  the  lapping  waters  beneath  him  and  the 
white  town  at  his  side  faded  away,  and  he  was 
back  in  the  hot,  crowded  court -room  with  this 
man's  face  before  him.  Meakim,  the  fourth  of  the 
Police  Commissioners,  confronted  him,  and  saw  in 
his  presence  nothing  but  a  menace  to  himself. 

Holcombe  came  up  the  last  steps  of  the  stairs, 
and  stopped  at  their  top.  His  instinct  and  life's 
tradition  made  him  despise  the  man,  and  to  this 
was  added  the  selfish  disgust  that  his  holiday 
should  have  been  so  soon  robbed  of  its  character 
by  this  reminder  of  all  that  he  had  been  told  to 
put  behind  him. 

Meakim  swept  off  his  hat  as  though  it  were 
hurting  him,  and  showed  the  great  drops  of  sweat 
on  his  forehead. 


THE    EXILES  11 

"  For  God's  sake  !"  the  man  panted,  "  you 
can't  touch  me  here,  Mr.  Holcombe.  I'm  safe 
here  ;  they  told  me  I'd  be.  You  can't  take  me. 
You  can't  touch  me." 

Holcombe  stared  at  the  man  coldly,  and  with  a 
touch  of  pity  and  contempt.  "That  is  quite 
right,  Mr.  Meakim,"  he  said.  "The  law  cannot 
reach  you  here." 

"  Then  what  do  you  want  with  me  ?"  the  man 
demanded,  forgetful  in  his  terror  of  anything 
but  his  own  safety. 

Holcombe  turned  upon  him  sharply.  "  I  am 
not  here  on  your  account,  Mr.  Meakim,"  he  said. 
"You  need  not  feel  the  least  uneasiness,  and," 
he  added,  dropping  his  voice  as  he  noticed  that 
others  were  drawing  near,  "if  you  keep  out  of 
my  way,  I  shall  certainly  keep  out  of  yours." 

The  Police  Commissioner  gave  a  short  laugh 
partly  of  bravado  and  partly  at  his  own  sudden 
terror.  "  I  didn't  know,"  he  said,  breathing  with 
relief.  "  I  thought  you'd  come  after  me.  You 
don't  wonder  you  give  me  a  turn,  do  you  ?  I  was 
scared."  He  fanned  himself  with  his  straw  hat, 
and  ran  his  tongue  over  his  lips.  "  Going  to 
be  here  some  time,  Mr.  District  Attorney?"  he 
added,  with  grave  politeness. 

Holcombe  could  not  help  but  smile  at  the  ab 
surdity  of  it.  It  was  so  like  what  he  would  have 
expected  of  Meakim  and  his  class  to  give  every 
office-holder  his  full  title.  "  No,  Mr.  Police  Com 
missioner,"  he  answered,  grimly,  and  nodding  to 


12  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

his  boatmen,  pushed  his  way  after  them  and  his 
trunks  along  the  pier. 

Meakim  was  waiting  for  him  as  he  left  the 
custom-house.  He  touched  his  hat,  and  bent  the 
whole  upper  part  of  his  fat  body  in  an  awkward 
bow.  "Excuse  me,  Mr.  District  Attorney,"  he 
began. 

"  Oh,  drop  that,  will  you  ?"  snapped  Holcombe. 
"  Now,  what  is  it  you  want,  Meakim?" 

"  I  was  only  going  to  say,"  answered  the  fugi 
tive,  with  some  offended  dignity,  "that  as  I've 
been  here  longer  than  you,  I  could  perhaps  give 
you  pointers  about  the  hotels.  Fve  tried  'em  all, 
and  they're  no  good,  but  the  Albion's  the  best." 

"  Thank  you,  I'm  sure,"  said  Holcombe.  "  But 
I  have  been  told  to  go  to  the  Isabella." 

"Well,  that's  pretty  good,  too,"  Meakim  an 
swered,  "  if  you  don't  mind  the  tables.  They  keep 
you  awake  most  of  the  night,  though,  and — " 

"  The  tables  ?  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Hol 
combe,  stiffly. 

"  Not  the  eatin'  tables  ;  the  roulette  tables," 
corrected  Meakim.  "  Of  course,"  he  continued, 
grinning,  "  if  you're  fond  of  the  game,  Mr.  Hol 
combe,  it's  handy  having  them  in  the  same  house, 
but  I  can  steer  you  against  a  better  one  back  of 
the  French  Consulate.  Those  at  the  Hotel  Isa 
bella's  crooked." 

Holcombe  stopped  uncertainly.  "  I  don't  know 
just  what  to  do,"  he  said.  "  I  think  I  shall  wait 
until  I  can  see  our  consul  here." 


THE    EXILES  13 

"Oh,  he'll  send  you  to  the  Isabella,"  said  Mea- 
kim,  cheerfully.  "He  gets  two  hundred  dollars 
a  week  for  protecting  the  proprietor,  so  he  natu 
rally  caps  for  the  house." 

Holcombe  opened  his  mouth  to  express  himself, 
but  closed  it  again,  and  then  asked,  with  some 
misgivings,  of  the  hotel  of  which  Meakim  had 
first  spoken. 

"Oh,  the  Albion.  Most  all  the  swells  go  there. 
It's  English,  and  they  cook  you  a  good  beefsteak. 
And  the  boys  generally  drop  in  for  table  d'hote. 
You  see,  that's  the  worst  of  this  place,  Mr.  Hol 
combe  ;  there's  nowhere  to  go  evenings — no  club- 
rooms  nor  theatre  nor  nothing  ;  only  the  smok 
ing-room  of  the  hotel  or  that  gambling  -  house  ; 
and  they  spring  a  double  naught  on  you  if  there's 
more  than  a  dollar  up." 

Holcombe  still  stood  irresolute,  his  porters  ey 
ing  him  from  under  their  burdens,  and  the  run 
ners  from  the  different  hotels  plucking  at  his 
sleeve. 

"  There's  some  very  good  people  at  the  Albion," 
urged  the  Police  Commissioner,  "and  three  or 
four  of  'em's  New-Yorkers.  There's  the  Mor 
rises  and  Ropes,  the  Consul-General,  and  Lloyd 
Carroll—" 

"  Lloyd  Carroll !"  exclaimed  Holcombe. 

"  Yes,"  said  Meakim,  with  a  smile,  "  he's  here." 
He  looked  at  Holcombe  curiously  for  a  moment, 
and  then  exclaimed,  with  a  laugh  of  intelligence, 
"Why,  sure  enough,  you  were  Mr.  Thatcher's 


14  THE    EXILES,   AND    OTHER    STORIES 

lawyer  in  that  case,  weren't  you  ?  It  was  you  got 
him  his  divorce  ?" 

Holcombe  nodded. 

"Carroll  was  the  man  that  made  it  possible, 
wasn't  he  ?" 

Holcombe  chafed  under  this  catechism.  "He 
was  one  of  a  dozen,  I  believe,"  he  said;  but  as  he 
moved  away  he  turned  and  asked :  "  And  Mrs. 
Thatcher.  What  has  become  of  her  ?" 

The  Police  Commissioner  did  not  answer  at 
once,  but  glanced  up  at  Holcombe  from  under 
his  half -shut  eyes  with  a  look  in  which  there  was 
a  mixture  of  curiosity  and  of  amusement.  "  You 
don't  mean  to  say,  Mr.  Holcombe,"  he  began,  slow 
ly,  with  the  patronage  of  the  older  man  and  with 
a  touch  of  remonstrance  in  his  tone,  "  that  you're 
still  with  the  husband  in  that  case  ?" 

Holcombe  looked  coldly  over  Mr.  Meakim's 
head.  "I  have  only  a  purely  professional  inter 
est  in  any  one  of  them,*'  he  said.  "  They  struck 
me  as  a  particularly  nasty  lot.  Good-morning, 
sir." 

"  Well,"  Meakim  called  after  him,  "  you  needn't 
see  nothing  of  them  if  you  don't  want  to.  You 
can  get  rooms  to  yourself." 

Holcombe  did  get  rooms  to  himself,  with  a  bal 
cony  overlooking  the  bay,  and  arranged  with  the 
proprietor  of  the  Albion  to  have  his  dinner  served 
at  a  separate  table.  As  others  had  done  this  be 
fore,  no  one  regarded  it  as  an  affront  upon  his 
society,  and  several  people  in  the  hotel  made  ad- 


THE    EXILES  15 

vances  to  him,  which  he  received  politely  but 
coldly.  For  the  first  week  of  his  visit  the  town 
interested  him  greatly,  increasing  its  hold  upon 
him  unconsciously  to  himself.  He  was  restless 
and  curious  to  see  it  all,  and  rushed  his  guide 
from  one  of  the  few  show-places  to  the  next  with 
an  energy  which  left  that  fat  Oriental  panting. 

But  after  three  days  Holcombe  climbed  the 
streets  more  leisurely,  stopping  for  half-hours  at  a 
time  before  a  bazaar,  or  sent  away  his  guide  alto 
gether,  and  stretched  himself  luxuriously  on  the 
broad  wall  of  the  fortifications.  The  sun  beat 
down  upon  him,  and  wrapped  him  into  drowsiness. 
From  far  afield  came  the  unceasing  murmur  of  the 
market-place  and  the  bazaars,  and  the  occasional 
cries  of  the  priests  from  the  minarets;  the  dark 
blue  sea  danced  and  flashed  beyond  the  white  mar 
gin  of  the  town  and  its  protecting  reef  of  rocks 
where  the  sea-weed  rose  and  fell,  and  above  his 
head  the  buzzards  swept  heavily,  and  called  to  one 
another  with  harsh,  frightened  cries.  At  his  side 
lay  the  dusty  road,  hemmed  in  by  walls  of  cactus, 
and  along  its  narrow  length  came  lines  of  patient 
little  donkeys  with  jangling  necklaces,  led  by  wild- 
looking  men  from  the  farm-lands  and  the  desert, 
and  women  muffled  and  shapeless,  with  only  their 
bare  feet  showing,  who  looked  at  him  curiously 
or  meaningly  from  over  the  protecting  cloth,  and 
passed  on,  leaving  him  startled  and  wondering. 
He  began  to  find  that  the  books  he  had  brought 
wearied  him.  The  sight  of  the  type  alone  was 


16  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

enough  to  make  him  close  the  covers  and  start 
up  restlessly  to  look  for  something  less  absorb 
ing.  He  found  this  on  every  hand,  in  the  lazy 
patience  of  the  bazaars  and  of  the  markets,  where 
the  chief  service  of  all  was  that  of  only  standing 
and  waiting,  and  in  the  farm-lands  behind  Tan 
gier,  where  half-naked  slaves  drove  great  horned 
buffalo,  and  turned  back  the  soft,  chocolate-col 
ored  sod  with  a  wooden  plough.  But  it  was  a 
solitary,  selfish  holiday,  and  Holcombe  found  him 
self  wanting  certain  ones  at  home  to  bear  him 
company,  and  was  surprised  to  find  that  of  these 
none  were  the  men  nor  the  women  with  whom  his 
interests  in  the  city  of  New  York  were  the  most 
closely  connected.  They  were  rather  foolish  peo 
ple,  men  at  whom  he  had  laughed  and  whom  he 
had  rather  pitied  for  having  made  him  do  so,  and 
women  he  had  looked  at  distantly  as  of  a  kind  he 
might  understand  when  his  work  was  over  and 
he  wished  to  be  amused.  The  young  girls  to 
whom  he  was  in  the  habit  of  pouring  out  his  de 
nunciations  of  evil,  and  from  whom  he  was  accus 
tomed  to  receive  advice  and  moral  support,  he 
could  not  place  in  this  landscape.  He  felt  uneas 
ily  that  they  would  not  allow  him  to  enjoy  it  his 
own  way;  they  would  consider  the  Moor  histor 
ically  as  the  invader  of  Catholic  Europe,  and 
would  be  shocked  at  the  lack  of  proper  sanita 
tion,  and  would  see  the  mud.  As  for  himself,  he 
had  risen  above  seeing  the  mud.  He  looked  up 
now  at  the  broken  line  of  the  roof-tops  against 


THE    EXILES  17 

the  blue  sky,  and  when  a  hooded  figure  drew 
back  from  his  glance  he  found  himself  murmur 
ing  the  words  of  an  Eastern  song  he  had  read 
in  a  book  of  Indian  stories: 

''Alone  upon  the  house-tops,  to  the  north 

I  turn  and  watch  the  lightning  in  the  sky, — 
The  glamour  of  thy  footsteps  in  the  north. 
Come  back  to  me,  Beloved,  or  I  die! 

"Below  my  feet  the  still  bazaar  is  laid. 
Far,  far  below,  the  weary  camels  lie — " 

Holcombe  laughed  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
He  had  stopped  half-way  down  the  hill  on  which 
stands  the  Bashaw's  palace,  and  the  whole  of 
Tangier  lay  below  him  like  a  great  cemetery  of 
white  marble.  The  moon  was  shining  clearly 
over  the  town  and  the  sea,  and  a  soft  wind  from 
the  sandy  farm-lands  came  to  him  and  played 
about  him  like  the  fragrance  of  a  garden.  Some 
thing  moved  in  him  that  he  did  not  recognize, 
but  which  was  strangely  pleasant,  and  which  ran 
to  his  brain  like  the  taste  of  a  strong  liqueur.  It 
came  to  him  that  he  was  alone  among  strangers, 
and  that  what  he  did  now  would  be  known  but  to 
himself  and  to  these  strangers.  What  it  was  that 
he  wished  to  do  he  did  not  know,  but  he  felt  a 
sudden  lifting  up  and  freedom  from  restraint. 
The  spirit  of  adventure  awoke  in  him  and  tugged 
at  his  sleeve,  and  he  was  conscious  of  a  desire  to 
gratify  it  and  to  put  it  to  the  test. 


18  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

"  '  Alone  upon  the  house-tops,' "  he  began.  Then 
he  laughed  and  clambered  hurriedly  down  the 
steep  hill  -  side.  "  It's  the  moonlight,"  he  ex 
plained  to  the  blank  walls  and  overhanging  lat 
tices,  "  and  the  place  and  the  music  of  the  song. 
It  might  be  one  of  the  Arabian  nights,  and  I 
Haroun  al  Raschid.  And  if  I  don't  get  back  to 
the  hotel  I  shall  make  a  fool  of  myself." 

He  reached  the  Albion  very  warm  and  breath 
less,  with  stumbling  and  groping  in  the  dark,  and 
instead  of  going  immediately  to  bed  told  the 
waiter  to  bring  him  some  cool  drink  out  on  the 
terrace  of  the  smoking-room.  There  were  two 
men  sitting  there  in  the  moonlight,  and  as  he 
came  forward  one  of  them  nodded  to  him  si 
lently. 

"  Oh,  good-evening,  Mr.  .Meakim  !"  Holcombe 
said,  gayly,  with  the  spirit  of  the  night  still  upon 
him.  "  I've  been  having  adventures."  He  laughed, 
and  stooped  to  brush  the  dirt  from  his  knicker 
bockers  and  stockings.  "  I  went  up  to  the  palace 
to  see  the  town  by  moonlight,  and  tried  to  inid 
my  way  back  alone,  and  fell  down  three  times." 

Meakim  shook  his  head  gravely.  "  You'd  bet 
ter  be  careful  at  night,  sir,"  he  said.  "The 
governor  has  just  said  that  the  Sultan  won't  be 
responsible  for  the  lives  of  foreigners  at  night 
1  unless  accompanied  by  soldier  and  lantern.'  " 

"  Yes,  and  the  legations  sent  word  that  they 
wouldn't  have  it,"  broke  in  the  other  man.  "They 
said  they'd  hold  him  responsible  anyway." 


THE    EXILES  19 

There  was  a  silence,  and  Meakim  moved  in 
some  slight  uneasiness.  "Mr.  Holcombe,  do  you 
know  Mr.  Carroll  ?"  he  said. 

Carroll  half  rose  from  his  chair,  but  Holcombe 
was  dragging  another  towards  him,  and  so  did 
not  have  a  hand  to  give  him. 

"  How  are  you,  Carroll  ?"  he  said,  pleasantly. 

The  night  was  warm,  and  Holcombe  was  tired 
after  his  rambles,  and  so  he  sank  back  in  the  low 
wicker  chair  contentedly  enough,  and  when  the 
first  cool  drink  was  finished  he  clapped  his  hands 
for  another,  and  then  another,  while  the  two  men 
sat  at  the  table  beside  him  and  avoided  such  topics 
as  would  be  unfair  to  any  of  them. 

"  And  yet,"  said  Holcombe,  after  the  first  half- 
hour  had  passed,  "  there  must  be  a  few  agreeable 
people  here.  I  am  sure  I  saw  some  very  nice-look 
ing  women  to-day  coming  in  from  the  fox-hunt. 
And  very  well  gotten  up,  too,  in  Karki  habits. 
And  the  men  were  handsome,  decent  -  looking 
chaps — Englishmen,  I  think." 

"  Who  does  he  mean  ?  Were  you  at  the  meet 
to-day  ?"  asked  Carroll. 

The  Tammany  chieftain  said  no,  that  he  did  not 
ride — not  after  foxes,  in  any  event.  "  But  I  saw 
Mrs.  Hornby  and  her  sister  coming  back,"  he  said. 
"  They  had  on  those  linen  habits." 

"Well,  now,  there's  a  woman  who  illustrates 
just  what  I  have  been  saying,"  continued  Carroll. 
"You  picked  her  out  as  a  self-respecting,  nice- 
looking  girl — and  so  she  is— but  she  wouldn't  like 


20  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER   STORIES 

to  have  to  tell  all  she  knows.  No,  they  are  all 
pretty  much  alike.  They  wear  low-neck  frocks, 
and  the  men  put  on  evening  dress  for  dinner,  and 
they  ride  after  foxes,  and  they  drop  in  to  five- 
o'clock  tea,  and  they  all  play  that  they're  a  lot  of 
gilded  saints,  and  it's  one  of  the  rules  of  the  game 
that  you  must  believe  in  the  next  man,  so  that  he 
will  believe  in  you.  I'm  breaking  the  rules  my 
self  now,  because  I  say  *  they '  when  I  ought  to 
say  '  we.'  We're  none  of  us  here  for  our  health, 
Holcombe,  but  it  pleases  us  to  pretend  we  are.  It's 
a  sort  of  give  and  take.  We  all  sit  around  at  din 
ner-parties  and  srnile  and  chatter,  and  those  Eng 
lish  talk  about  the  latest  news  from  *  town,'  and 
how  they  mean  to  run  back  for  the  season  or  the 
hunting.  But  they  know  they  don't  dare  go  back, 
and  they  know  that  everybody  at  the  table  knows 
it,  and  that  the  servants  behind  them  know  it. 
But  it's  more  easy  that  way.  There's  only  a  few 
of  us  here,  and  we've  got  to  hang  together  or  we'd 
go  crazy." 

"That's  so,"  said  Meakim,  approvingly.  "It 
makes  it  more  sociable." 

"  It's  a  funny  place,"  continued  Carroll.  The 
wine  had  loosened  his  tongue,  and  it  was  some 
thing  to  him  to  be  able  to  talk  to  one  of  his  own 
people  again,  and  to  speak  from  their  point  of 
view,  so  that  the  man  who  had  gone  through  St. 
Paul's  and  Harvard  with  him  would  see  it  as  such 
a  man  should.  "It's  a  funny  place,  because,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  it's  a  prison,  you  grow  to  like 


THE    EXILES  21 

it  for  its  freedom.  You  can  do  things  here  you 
can't  do  in  New  York,  and  pretty  much  every 
thing  goes  there,  or  it  used  to,  where  I  hung  out. 
But  here  you're  just  your  own  master,  and  there's 
no  law  and  no  religion  and  no  relations  nor  news 
papers  to  poke  into  what  you  do  nor  how  you  live. 
You  can  understand  what  I  mean  if  you've  ever 
tried  living  in  the  West.  I  used  to  feel  the  same 
way  the  year  I  was  ranching  in  Texas.  My  fam 
ily  sent  me  out  there  to  put  me  out  of  temptation; 
but  I  concluded  I'd  rather  drink  myself  to  death 
on  good  whiskey  at  Del's  than  on  the  stuff  we  got 
on  the  range,  so  I  pulled  my  freight  and  came 
East  again.  But  while  I  was  there  I  was  a  little 
king.  I  was  just  as  good  as  the  next  man,  and  he 
was  no  better  than  me.  And  though  the  life  was 
rough,  and  it  was  cold  and  lonely,  there  was  some 
thing  in  being  your  own  boss  that  made  you  stick 
it  out  there  longer  than  anything  else  did.  It  was 
like  this,  Holcombe."  Carroll  half  rose  from  his 
chair  and  marked  what  he  said  with  his  finger. 
"  Every  time  I  took  a  step  and  my  gun  bumped 
against  my  hip,  I'd  straighten  up  and  feel  good 
and  look  for  trouble.  There  was  nobody  to  appeal 
to ;  it  was  just  between  me  and  him,  and  no  one 
else  had  any  say  about  it.  Well,  that's  what  it's 
like  here.  You  see  men  come  to  Tangier  on  the 
run,  flying  from  detectives  or  husbands  or  bank 
directors,  men  who  have  lived  perfectly  decent, 
commonplace  lives  up  to  the  time  they  made  their 
one  bad  break — which,"  Carroll  added,  in  polite 


22  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

parenthesis,  with  a  deprecatory  wave  of  his  hand 
towards  Meakim  and  himself,  "  we  are  all  likely 
to  do  some  time,  aren't  we  ?" 

"  Just  so,"  said  Meakim. 

"Of  course,"  assented  the  District  Attorney. 

"  But  as  soon  as  he  reaches  this  place,  Holcombe," 
continued  Carroll,  "he  begins  to  show  just  how 
bad  he  is.  It  all  comes  out  —  all  his  viciousness 
and  rottenness  and  blackguardism.  There  is  noth 
ing  to  shame  it,  and  there  is  no  one  to  blame  him, 
and  no  one  is  in  a  position  to  throw  the  first  stone." 
Carroll  dropped  his  voice  and  pulled  his  chair  for 
ward  with  a  glance  over  his  shoulder.  "One  of 
those  men  you  saw  riding  in  from  the  meet  to 
day.  Now,  he's  a  German  officer,  and  he's  here 
for  forging  a  note  or  cheating  at  cards  or  some 
thing  quiet  and  gentlemanly,  nothing  that  shows 
him  to  be  a  brute  or  a  beast.  But  fast  week  he 
had  old  Mulley  Wazzam  buy  him  a  slave  girl  in 
Fez,  and  bring  her  out  to  his  house  in  the  suburbs. 
It  seems  that  the  girl  was  i-n  love  with  a  soldier  in 
the  Sultan's  body-guard  at  Fez,  and  tried  to  run 
away  to  join  him,  and  this  man  met  her  quite  by 
accident  as  she  was  making  her  way  south  across 
the  sand-hills.  He  was  whip  that  day,  and  was 
hurrying  out  to  the  meet  alone.  He  had  some 
words  with  the  girl  first,  and  then  took  his  whip 
— it  was  one  of  those  with  the  long  lash  to  it;  you 
know  what  I  mean — and  cut  her  to  pieces  with  it, 
riding  her  down  on  his  pony  when  she  tried  to 
run,  and  heading  her  off  and  lashing  her  around 


THE    EXILES  23 

the  legs  and  body  until  she  fell;  then  he  rode  on 
in  his  damn  pink  coat  to  join  the  ladies  at  Mango's 
Drift,  where  the  meet  was,  and  some  Riffs  found 
her  bleeding  to  death  behind  the  sand-hills.  That 
man  held  a  commission  in  the  Emperor's  own  body 
guard,  and  that's  what  Tangier  did  for  him" 

Holcombe  glanced  at  Meakim  to  see  if  he 
would  verify  this,  but  Meakim's  lips  were  tightly 
pressed  around  his  cigar,  and  his  eyes  were  half 
closed. 

"And  what  was  done  about  it?"  Holcombe 
asked,  hoarsely. 

Carroll  laughed,  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"  Why,  I  tell  you,  and  you  whisper  it  to  the  next 
man,  and  we  pretend  not  to  believe  it,  and  call 
the  Riffs  liars.  As  I  say,  we're  none  of  us.  here 
for  our  health,  Holcombe,  and  a  public  opinion 
that's  manufactured  by  declassee  women  and  men 
who  have  run  off  with  somebody  else's  money 
and  somebody  else's  wife  isn't  strong  enough  to 
try  a  man  for  beating  his  own  slave." 

"  But  the  Moors  themselves  ?"  protested  Hol 
combe.  "And  the  Sultan?  She's  one  of  his 
subjects,  isn't  she?" 

"  She's  a  woman,  and  women  don't  count  for 
much  in  the  East,  you  know;  and  as  for  the  Sul 
tan,  he's  an  ignorant  black  savage.  When  the 
English  wanted  to  blow  up  those  rocks  off  the 
western  coast,  the  Sultan  wouldn't  let  them.  He 
said  Allah  had  placed  them  there  for  some  good 
reason  of  His  own,  and  it  was  not  for  man  to  in- 


24  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STOEIES 

terfere  with  the  works  of  God.  That's  the  sort 
of  a  Sultan  he  is."  Carroll  rose  suddenly  and 
walked  into  the  smoking  -  room,  leaving  the  two 
men  looking  at  each  other  in  silence. 

"  That's  right,"  said  Meakim,  after  a  pause.  "  He 
give  it  to  you  just  as  it  is,  but  I  never  knew  him 
to  kick  about  it  before.  We're  a  fair  field  for 
missionary  work,  Mr.  Holcombe,  all  of  us — at 
least,  some  of  us  are."  He  glanced  up  as  Carroll 
came  back  from  out  of  the  lighted  room  with  an 
alert,  brisk  step.  His  manner  had  changed  in  his 
absence. 

"Some  of  the  ladies  have  come  over  for  a  bit 
of  supper,"  he  said.  "  Mrs.  Hornby  and  her  sister 
and  Captain  Reese.  The  chefs  got  some  birds 
for  us,  and  I've  put  a  couple  of  bottles  on  ice.  It 
will  be  like  Del's — hey  ?  A  small  hot  bird  and  a 
large  cold  bottle.  They  sent  me  out  to  ask  you 
to  join  us.  They're  in  our  rooms."  Meakim  rose 
leisurely  and  lit  a  fresh  cigar,  but  Holcombe 
moved  uneasily  in  his  chair.  "You'll  come, 
won't  you  ?"  Carroll  asked.  "  I'd  like  you  to 
meet  my  wife." 

Holcombe  rose  irresolutely  and  looked  at  his 
watch.  "  I'm  afraid  it's  too  late  for  me,"  he  said, 
without  raising  his  face.  "  You  see,  I'm  here  for 
my  health.  I—" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Carroll,  sharply. 

"  Nonsense,  Carroll !  "  said  Holcombe.  "  I 
didn't  mean  that.  I  meant  it  literally.  I  can't 
risk  midnight  suppers  yet.  My  doctor's  orders 


THE    EXILES  25 

are  to  go  to  bed  at  nine,  and  it's  past  twelve 
now.  Some  other  time,  if  you'll  be  so  good;  but 
it's  long  after  my  bedtime,  and — " 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  said  Carroll,  quietly,  as  he 
turned  away.  "  Are  you  coming,  Meakim  ?" 

Meakim  lifted  his  half  -  empty  glass  from  the 
table  and  tasted  it  slowly  until  Carroll  had  left 
them,  then  he  put  the  glass  down,  and  glanced 
aside  to  where  Holcombe  sat  looking  out  over  the 
silent  city.  Holcombe  raised  his  eyes  and  stared 
at  him  steadily. 

"  Mr.  Holcombe — "  the  fugitive  began. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  lawyer. 

Meakim  shook  his  head.  "  Nothing,"  he  said. 
"  Good-night,  sir." 

Holcombe's  rooms  were  on  the  floor  above  Car 
roll's,  and  the  laughter  of  the  latter's  guests  and 
the  tinkling  of  glasses  and  silver  came  to  him  as 
he  stepped  out  upon  his  balcony.  But  for  this  the 
night  was  very  still.  The  sea  beat  leisurely  on 
the  rocks,  and  the  waves  ran  up  the  sandy  coast 
with  a  sound  as  of  some  one  sweeping.  The  music 
of  women's  laughter  came  up  to  him  suddenly, 
and  he  wondered  hotly  if  they  were  laughing  at 
him.  He  assured  himself  that  it  was  a  matter  of 
indifference  to  him  if  they  were.  And  with  this 
he  had  a  wish  that  they  would  not  think  of  him 
as  holding  himself  aloof.  One  of  the  women  be 
gan  to  sing  to  a  guitar,  and  to  the  accompaniment 
of  this  a  man  and  a  young  girl  came  out  upon  the 
balcony  below,  and  spoke  to  each  other  in  low, 


26  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

earnest  tones,  which  seemed  to  carry  with  them 
the  feeling  of  a  caress.  Holcombe  could  not  hear 
what  they  said,  but  he  could  see  the  curve  of  the 
woman's  white  shoulders  and  the  light  of  her 
companion's  cigar  as  he  leaned  upon  the  rail  with 
his  back  to  the  moonlight  and  looked  into  her 
face.  Holcombe  felt  a  sudden  touch  of  loneliness 
and  of  being  very  far  from  home.  He  shivered 
slightly  as  though  from  the  cold,  and  stepping  in 
side  closed  the  window  gently  behind  him. 

Although  Holcombe  met  Carroll  several  times 
during  the  following  day,  the  latter  obviously 
avoided  him,  and  it  was  not  until  late  in  the  after 
noon  that  Holcombe  was  given  a  chance  to  speak 
to  him  again.  Carroll  was  coming  down  the  only 
street  on  a  run,  jumping  from  one  rough  stone  to 
another,  and  with  his  face  lighted  up  with  excite 
ment.  He  hailed  Holcombe  from  a  distance  with 
a  wave  of  the  hand.  "  There's  an  American  man- 
of-war  in  the  bay,"  he  cried ;  "  one  of  the  new 
ones.  We  saw  her  flag  from  the  hotel.  Come 
on !"  Holcombe  followed  as  a  matter  of  course, 
as  Carroll  evidently  expected  that  he  would,  and 
they  reached  the  end  of  the  landing-pier  togeth 
er,  just  as  the  ship  of  war  ran  up  and  broke  the 
square  red  flag  of  Morocco  from  her  main-mast 
and  fired  her  salute. 

"  They'll  be  sending  a  boat  in  by-and-by,"  said 
Carroll,  "  and  we'll  have  a  talk  with  the  men." 
His  enthusiasm  touched  his  companion  also,  and 
the  sight  of  the  floating  atom  of  the  great  country 


THE    EXILES  27 

that  was  his  moved  him  strongly,  as  though  it  were 
a  personal  message  from  home.  It  came  to  him 
like  the  familiar  stamp,  and  a  familiar  handwrit 
ing  on  a  letter  in  a  far-away  land,  and  made  him 
feel  how  dear  his  own  country  was  to  him  and 
how  much  he  needed  it.  They  were  leaning  side 
by  side  upon  the  rail  watching  the  ship's  screws 
turning  the  blue  waters  white,  and  the  men  run 
ning  about  the  deck,  and  the  blue-coated  figures 
on  the  bridge.  Holcombe  turned  to  point  out 
the  vessel's  name  to  Carroll,  and  found  that  his 
companion's  eyes  were  half  closed  and  filled  with 
tears. 

Carroll  laughed  consciously  and  coughed.  "We 
kept  it  up  a  bit  too  late  last  night,"  he  said,  "and 
I'm  feeling  nervous  this  morning,  and  the  sight  of 
the  flag  and  those  boys  from  home  knocked  me 
out."  He  paused  for  a  moment,  frowning  through 
his  tears  and  with  his  brow  drawn  up  into  many 
wrinkles.  "  It's  a  terrible  thing,  Holcombe,"  he 
began  again,  fiercely,  "  to  be  shut  off  from  all  of 
that."  He  threw  out  his  hand  with  a  sudden  gest 
ure  towards  the  man-of-war.  Holcombe  looked 
down  at  the  water  and  laid  his  hand  lightly  on  his 
companion's  shoulder.  Carroll  drew  away  and 
shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  want  any  sympathy," 
he  said,  kindly.  "  I'm  not  crying  the  baby  act. 
But  you  don't  know,  and  I  don't  believe  anybody 
else  knows,  what  I've  gone  through  and  what  I've 
suffered.  You  don't  like  me,  Holcombe,  and  you 
don't  like  my  class,  but  I  want  to  tell  you  some- 


28  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER   STORIES 

thing  about  my  coming  here.  I  want  you  to  set 
them  right  about  it  at  home.  And  I  don't  care 
whether  it  interests  you  or  not,"  he  said,  with 
quick  offence ;  "  I  want  you  to  listen.  It's  about 
my  wrife." 

Holcombe  bowed  his  head  gravely. 

"  You  got  Thatcher  his  divorce,"  Carroll  con 
tinued.  "And  you  know  that  he  would  never 
have  got  it  but  for  me,  and  that  everybody  ex 
pected  that  I  would  marry  Mrs.  Thatcher  when 
the  thing  was  over.  And  I  didn't,  and  everybody 
said  I  was  a  blackguard,  and  I  was.  It  was  bad 
enough  before,  but  I  made  it  worse  by  not  doing 
the  only  thing  that  could  make  it  any  better. 
Why  I  didn't  do  it  I  don't  know.  I  had  some 
grand  ideas  of  reform  about  that  time,  I  think, 
and  I  thought  I  owed  my  people  something,  and 
that  by  not  making  Mrs.  Thatcher  my  mother's 
daughter  I  would  be  saving  her  and  my  sisters. 
It  was  remorse,  I  guess,  and  I  didn't  see  things 
straight.  I  know  now  what  I  should  have  done. 
Well,  I  left  her  and  she  went  her  own  way,  and  a 
great  many  people  felt  sorry  for  her,  and  were 
good  to  her — not  your  people,  nor  my  people;  but 
enough  were  good  to  her  to  make  her  see  as  much 
of  the  world  as  she  had  used  to.  She  never  loved 
Thatcher,  and  she  never  loved  any  of  the  men 
you  brought  into  that  trial  except  one,  and  he 
treated  her  like  a  cur.  That  was  myself.  Well, 
what  with  trying  to  please  my  family,  and  loving 
Alice  Thatcher  all  the  time  and  not  seeing  her,  and 


THE    EXILES  29 

hating  her  too  for  bringing  me  into  all  that  notori 
ety — for  I  blamed  the  worn  an,  of  course,  as  a  man  al 
ways  will — I  got  to  drinking,  and  then  this  scrape 
came  and  I  had  to  run.  I  don't  care  anything 
about  that  row  now,  or  what  you  believe  about 
it.  I'm  here,  shut  off  from  my  home,  and  that's  a 
worse  punishment  than  any  damn  lawyers  can  in 
vent.  And  the  man's  well  again.  He  saw  I  was 
drunk ;  but  I  wasn't  so  drunk  that  I  didn't  know 
he  was  trying  to  do  me,  and  I  pounded  him  just 
as  they  say  I  did,  and  I'm  sorry  now  I  didn't  kill 
him." 

Holcombe  stirred  uneasily,  and  the  man  at  his 
side  lowered  his  voice  and  went  on  more  calmly  : 

"  If  I  hadn't  been  a  gentleman,  Holcombe,  or  if 
it  had  been  another  cabman  he'd  fought  with, 
there  wouldn't  have  been  any  trouble  about  it. 
But  he  thought  he  could  get  big  money  out  of 
me,  and  his  friends  told  him  to  press  it  until  he 
was  paid  to  pull  out,  and  I  hadn't  the  money,  and 
so  I  had  to  break  bail  and  run.  Well,  you've 
seen  the  place.  You've  been  here  long  enough 
to  know  what  it's  like,  and  what  I've  had  to  go 
through.  Nobody  wrote  me,  and  nobody  came 
to  see  me  ;  not  one  of  my  own  sisters  even,  though 
they've  been  in  the  Riviera  all  this  spring— not  a 
day's  journey  away.  Sometimes  a  man  turned 
up  that  I  knew,  but  it  was  almost  worse  than  not 
seeing  any  one.  It  only  made  me  more  homesick 
when  he'd  gone.  And  for  weeks  I  used  to  walk 
up  and  down  that  beach  there  alone  late  in  the 


30  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

night,  until  I  got  to  thinking  that  the  waves  were 
talking  to  me,  arid  I  got  queer  in  my  head.  I 
had  to  fight  it  just  as  I  used  to  have  to  fight 
against  whiskey,  and  to  talk  fast  so  that  I  wouldn't 
think.  And  I  tried  to  kill  myself  hunting,  and 
only  got  a  broken  collar-bone  for  my  pains.  Well, 
all  this  time  Alice  was  living  in  Paris  and  New 
York.  I  heard  that  some  English  captain  was 
going  to  marry  her,  and  then  I  read  in  the  Paris 
Herald  that  she  was  settled  in  the  American  colo 
ny  there,  and  one  day  it  gave  a  list  of  the  people 
who'd  been  to  a  reception  she  gave.  She  could 
go  where  she  pleased,  and  she  had  money  in  her 
own  right,  you  know  ;  and  she  was  being  revenged 
on  me  every  day.  And  I  was  here  knowing  it, 
and  loving  her  worse  than  I  ever  loved  anything 
on  earth,  and  having  lost  the  right  to  tell  her  so, 
and  not  able  to  go  to  her.  Then  one  day  some 
chap  turned  up  from  here  and  told  her  about  me, 
and  about  how  miserable  I  was,  and  how  well  I 
was  being  punished.  He  thought  it  would  please 
her,  I  suppose.  I  don't  know  who  he  was,  but  I 
guess  he  was  in  love  with  her  himself.  And  then 
the  papers  had  it  that  I  was  down  with  the  fever 
here,  and  she  read  about  it.  I  was  ill  for  a  time, 
and  I  hoped  it  was  going  to  carry  me  off  decent 
ly,  but  I  got  up  in  a  week  or  two,  and  one  day  I 
crawled  down  here  where  we're  standing  now  to 
watch  the  boat  come  in.  I  was  pretty  weak  from 
my  illness,  and  I  was  bluer  than  I  had  ever  been, 
and  I  didn't  see  anything  but  blackness  and  bit- 


THE    EXILES  31 

terness  for  me  anywhere.  I  turned  around  when 
the  passengers  reached  the  pier,  and  I  saw  a 
woman  coming  up  those  stairs.  Her  figure  and 
her  shoulders  were  so  like  Alice's  that  my  heart 
went  right  up  into  my  throat,  and  I  couldn't 
breathe  for  it.  I  just  stood  still  staring,  and 
when  she  reached  the  top  of  the  steps  she  looked 
up,  breathing  with  the  climb,  and  laughing  ;  and 
she  says,  l  Lloyd,  I've  come  to  see  you.'  And  I — 
I  was  that  lonely  and  weak  that  I  grabbed  her 
hand,  and  leaned  back  against  the  railing,  and  cried 
there  before  the  whole  of  them.  I  don't  think 
she  expected  it  exactly,  because  she  didn't  know 
what  to  do,  and  just  patted  me  on  the  shoulder, 
and  said,  '  I  thought  I'd  run  down  to  cheer  you 
up  a  bit  ;  and  I've  brought  Mrs.  Scott  with  me 
to  chaperone  us.'  And  I  said,  without  stopping 
to  think  :  'You  wouldn't  have  needed  any  chap 
eron,  Alice,  if  I  hadn't  been  a  cur  and  a  fool. 
If  I  had  only  asked  what  I  can't  ask  of  you  now  ;' 
and,  Holcombe,  she  flushed  just  like  a  little  girl, 
and  laughed,  and  said,  'Oh,  will  you,  Lloyd?' 
And  you  see  that  ugly  iron  chapel  up  there,  with 
the  corrugated  zinc  roof  and  the  wooden  cross  on 
it,  next  to  the  mosque  ?  Well,  that's  where  we 
went  first,  right  from  this  wharf  before  I  let  her 
go  to  a  hotel,  and  old  Ridley,  the  English  rector, 
he  married  us,  and  we  had  a  civil  marriage  too. 
That's  what  she  did  for  me.  She  had  the  whole 
wide  globe  to  live  in,  and  she  gave  it  up  to 
come  to  Tangier,  because  I  had  no  other  place 


32  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

but  Tangier,  and  she's  made  my  life  for  me,  and 
I'm  happier  here  than  I  ever  was  before  any 
where,  and  sometimes  I  think — I  hope — that  she 
is,  too."  Carroll's  lips  moved  slightly,  and  his 
hands  trembled  on  the  rail.  He  coughed,  and  his 
voice  was  gentler  when  he  spoke  again.  "  And 
so,"  he  added,  "  that's  why  I  felt  it  last  night 
when  you  refused  to  meet  her.  You  were  right, 
I  know,  from  your  way  of  thinking,  but  we've 
grown  careless  down  here,  and  we  look  at  things 
differently." 

Holcombe  did  not  speak,  but  put  his  arm  across 
the  other's  shoulder,  and  this  time  Carroll  did  not 
shake  it  off.  Holcombe  pointed  with  his  hand  to 
a  tall,  handsome  woman  with  heavy  yellow  hair 
who  was  coming  towards  them,  with  her  hands 
in  the  pockets  of  her  reefer.  "  There  is  Mrs.  Car 
roll  now,"  he  said.  "  Won't  you  present  me,  and 
then  we  can  row  out  and  see  the  man-of-war?" 


II 

The  officers  returned  their  visit  during  the  day, 
and  the  American  Consul-Gen eral  asked  them  all 
to  a  reception  the  following  afternoon.  The  en 
tire  colony  came  to  this,  and  Holcombe  met  many 
people,  and  drank  tea  with  several  ladies  in  riding- 
habits,  and  iced  drinks  with  all  of  the  men.  He 
found  it  very  amusing,  and  the  situation  appealed 


THE    EXILES  33 

strongly  to  his  somewhat  latent  sense  of  humor. 
That  evening  in  writing  to  his  sister  he  told  of 
his  rapid  recovery  in  health,  and  of  the  possi 
bility  of  his  returning  to  civilization. 

"  There  was  a  reception  this  afternoon  at  the 
Consul-General's,"  he  wrote,  "  given  to  the  offi 
cers  of  our  man-of-war,  and  I  found  myself  in 
some  rather  remarkable  company.  The  consul 
himself  has  become  rich  by  selling  his  protection 
for  two  hundred  dollars  to  every  wealthy  Moor 
who  wishes  to  escape  the  forced  loans  which  the 
Sultan  is  in  the  habit  of  imposing  on  the  faithful. 
For  five  hundred  dollars  he  will  furnish  any  one 
of  them  with  a  piece  of  stamped  paper  accred 
iting  him  as  minister  plenipotentiary  from  the 
United  States  to  the  Sultan's  court.  Of  course  the 
Sultan  never  receives  them,  and  whatever  object 
they  may  have  had  in  taking  the  long  journey  to 
Fez  is  never  accomplished.  Some  day  some  one 
of  them  will  find  out  how  he  has  been  tricked, 
and  will  return  to  have  the  consul  assassinated. 
This  will  be  a  serious  loss  to  our  diplomatic  ser 
vice.  The  consul's  wife  is  a  fat  German  woman 
who  formerly  kept  a  hotel  here.  Her  brother 
has  it  now,  and  runs  it  as  an  annex  to  a  gam 
bling-house.  Pat  Meakim,  the  police  commis 
sioner  that  I  indicted,  but  who  jumped  his  bail, 
introduced  me  at  the  reception  to  the  men,  with 
apparently  great  self-satisfaction,  as  *  the  pride 
of  the  New  York  Bar,'  and  Mrs.  Carroll,  for 
whose  husband  I  obtained  a  divorce,  showed  her 


34  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

gratitude  by  presenting  me  to  the  ladies.  It  was 
a  distinctly  Gilbertian  situation,  and  the  people 
to  whom  they  introduced  me  were  quite  as  pict 
uresquely  disreputable  as  themselves.  So  you 
see—" 

Holcombe  stopped  here  and  read  over  what  he 
had  written,  and  then  tore  up  the  letter.  The 
one  he  sent  in  its  place  said  he  was  getting  bet 
ter,  but  that  the  climate  was  not  so  mild  as  he 
had  expected  it  would  be. 

Holcombe  engaged  the  entire  first  floor  of  the 
hotel  the  next  day,  and  entertained  the  officers 
and  the  residents  at  breakfast,  and  the  Admiral 
made  a  speech  and  said  how  grateful  it  was  to 
him  and  to  his  officers  to  find  that  wherever  they 
might  touch,  there  were  some  few  Americans 
ready  to  welcome  them  as  the  representatives  of 
the  flag  they  all  so  unselfishly  loved,  and  of  the 
land  they  still  so  proudly  called  "home."  Car 
roll,  turning  his  wine-glass  slowly  between  his 
fingers,  raised  his  eyes  to  catch  Holcombe's,  and 
winked  at  him  from  behind  the  curtain  of  the 
smoke  of  his  cigar,  and  Holcombe  smiled  grimly, 
and  winked  back,  with  the  result  that  Meakim, 
who  had  intercepted  the  signalling,  choked  on 
his  champagne,  and  had  to  be  pounded  violent 
ly  on  the  back.  Holcombe's  breakfast  established 
him  as  a  man  of  means  and  one  who  could  enter 
tain  properly,  and  after  that  his  society  was  count 
ed  upon  for  every  hour  of  the  day.  He  offered 
money  as  prizes  for  the  ship's  crew  to  row  and 


THE    EXILES  35 

swim  after,  he  gave  a  purse  for  a  cross-country 
pony  race,  open  to  members  of  the  Calpe  and  Tan 
gier  hunts,  and  organized  picnics  and  riding  par 
ties  innumerable.  He  was  forced  at  last  to  hire 
a  soldier  to  drive  away  the  beggars  when  he 
walked  abroad.  He  found  it  easy  to  be  rich  in 
a  place  where  he  was  giving  over  two  hundred 
copper  coins  for  an  English  shilling,  and  he  dis 
tributed  his  largesses  recklessly  and  with  a  lack 
of  discrimination  entirely  opposed  to  the  precepts 
of  his  organized  charities  at  home.  He  found  it 
so  much  more  amusing  to  throw  a  handful  of  cop 
pers  to  a  crowd  of  fat  naked  children  than  to 
write  a  check  for  the  Society  of  Suppression  of 
Cruelty  to  the  same  beneficiaries. 

"  You  shouldn't  give  those  fellows  money," 
the  Consul-General  once  remonstrated  with  him ; 
"  the  fact  that  they're  blind  is  only  a  proof  that 
they  have  been  thieves.  When  they  catch  a  man 
stealing  here  they  hold  his  head  back,  and  pass  a 
hot  iron  in  front  of  his  eyes.  That's  why  the  lids 
are  drawn  taut  that  way.  You  shouldn't  encour 
age  them." 

"  Perhaps  they're  not  all  thieves,"  said  the 
District  Attorney,  cheerfully,  as  he  hit  the  circle 
around  him  with  a  handful  of  coppers  ;  "  but 
there  is  no  doubt  about  it  that  they're  all  blind. 
Which  is  the  more  to  be  pitied,"  he  asked  the 
Consul-General,  "the  man  who  has  still  to  be 
found  out  and  who  can  see,  or  the  one  who  has 
been  exposed  and  who  is  blind?" 


36  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

"How  should  he  know?"  said  Carroll,  laugh 
ing.  "  He's  never  been  blind,  and  he  still  holds 
his  job." 

"I  don't  think  that's  very  funny,"  said  the 
Consul-General. 

A  week  of  pig-sticking  came  to  end  Holcombe's 
stay  in  Tangier,  and  he  threw  himself  into  it  and 
into  the  freedom  of  its  life  with  a  zest  that  made 
even  the  Englishman  speak  of  him  as  a  good  fel 
low.  He  chanced  to  overhear  this,  and  stopped 
to  consider  what  it  meant.  No  one  had  ever 
called  him  a  good  fellow  at  home,  but  then  his 
life  had  not  offered  him  the  chance  to  show  what 
sort  of  a  good  fellow  he  might  be,  and  as  Judge 
Holcombe's  son  certain  things  had  been  debarred 
him.  Here  he  was  only  the  richest  tourist  since 
Farwell,  the  diamond  smuggler  from  Amsterdam, 
had  touched  there  in  his  yacht. 

The  week  of  boar-hunting  was  spent  out-of- 
doors,  on  horseback,  and  in  tents ;  the  women  in 
two  wide  circular  ones,  and  the  men  in  another, 
with  a  mess  tent,  which  they  shared  in  common, 
pitched  between  them.  They  had  only  one  change 
of  clothes  each,  one  wet  and  one  dry,  and  they 
were  in  the  saddle  from  nine  in  the  morning  un 
til  late  at  night,  when  they  gathered  in  a  wide 
circle  around  the  wood-fire  and  played  banjoes 
and  listened  to  stories.  Holcombe  grew  as  red 
as  a  sailor,  and  jumped  his  horse  over  gaping 
crevasses  in  the  hard  sun-baked  earth  as  reck 
lessly  as  though  there  were  nothing  in  this  world 


THE    EXILES  37 

so  well  worth  sacrificing  one's  life  for  as  to  be 
the  first  in  at  a  dumb  brute's  death.  He  was  on 
friendly  terms  with  them  all  now  —  with  Miss 
Terrill,  the  young  girl  who  had  been  awakened 
by  night  and  told  to  leave  Monte  Carlo  before 
daybreak,  and  with  Mrs.  Darhah,  who  would  an 
swer  to  Lady  Taunton  if  so  addressed,  and  with 
Andrews,  the  Scotch  bank  clerk,  and  Ollid  the 
boy  officer  from  Gibraltar,  who  had  found  some 
difficulty  in  making  the  mess  account  balance. 
They  were  all  his  very  good  friends,  and  he  was 
especially  courteous  and  attentive  to  Miss  Ter- 
rill's  wants  and  interests,  and  fixed  her  stirrup 
and  once  let  her  pass  him  to  charge  the  boar  in 
his  place.  She  was  a  silently  distant  young 
woman,  and  strangely  gentle  for  one  who  had 
had  to  leave  a  place,  and  such  a  place,  between 
days  ;  and  her  hair,  which  was  very  fine  and 
light,  ran  away  from  under  her  white  helmet  in 
disconnected  curls.  At  night,  Holcombe  used  to 
watch  her  from  out  of  the  shadow  when  the  fire 
light  lit  up  the  circle  and  the  tips  of  the  palms 
above  them,  and  when  the  story-teller's  voice  was 
accompanied  by  bursts  of  occasional  laughter  from 
the  dragomen  in  the  grove  beyond,  and  the  stamp 
ing  and  neighing  of  the  horses  at  their  pickets, 
and  the  unceasing  chorus  of  the  insect  life  about 
them.  She  used  to  sit  on  one  of  the  rugs  with 
her  hands  clasped  about  her  knees,  and  with  her 
head  resting  on  Mrs.  Hornby's  broad  shoulder, 
looking  down  into  the  embers  of  the  fire,  and 


38  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

with  the  story  of  her  life  written  on  her  girl's 
face  as  irrevocably  as  though  old  age  had  set  its 
seal  there.  Holcombe  was  kind  to  them  all  now, 
even  to  Meakim,  when  that  gentleman  rode  lei 
surely  out  to  the  camp  with  the  mail  and  the 
latest  Paris  Herald,  which  was  their  one  bond 
of  union  with  the  great  outside  world. 

Carroll  sat  smoking  his  pipe  one  night,  and 
bending  forward  over  the  fire  to  get  its  light  on 
the  pages  of  the  latest  copy  of  this  paper.  Sud 
denly  he  dropped  it  between  his  knees.  "  I  say, 
Holcombe,"  he  cried,  "  here's  news  !  Winthrop 
Allen  has  absconded  with  three  hundred  thou 
sand  dollars,  and  no  one  knows  where." 

Holcombe  was  sitting  on  the  other  side  of  the 
fire,  prying  at  the  rowel  of  his  spur  with  a  hunt 
ing-knife.  He  raised  his  head  and  laughed. 
"Another  good  man  gone  wrong,  hey?"  he  said. 

Carroll  lowered  the  paper  slowly  to  his  knee 
and  stared  curiously  through  the  smoky  light 
to  where  Holcombe  sat  intent  on  the  rowel  of  his 
spur.  It  apparently  absorbed  his  entire  atten 
tion,  and  his  last  remark  had  been  an  uncon 
sciously  natural  one.  Carroll  smiled  grimly  as 
he  folded  the  paper  across  his  knee.  "  Now  are 
the  mighty  fallen,  indeed,"  he  murmured.  He 
told  Meakim  of  it  a  few  minutes  later,  and  they 
both  marvelled.  "  It's  just  as  I  told  him,  isn't  it, 
and  he  wouldn't  believe  me.  It's  the  place  and 
the  people.  Two  weeks  ago  he  would  have  raged. 
Why,  Meakim,  you  know  Allen — Winthrop  Al- 


THE    EXILES  39 

]en?  He's  one  of  Holcombe's  own  sort;  older 
than  he  is,  but  one  of  his  own  people  ;  belongs 
to  the  same  clubs ;  and  to  the  same  family,  I 
think,  and  yet  Harry  took  it  just  as  a  matter  of 
course,  with  no  more  interest  than  if  I'd  said 
that  Allen  was  going  to  be  married." 

Meakim  gave  a  low,  comfortable  laugh  of  con 
tent.  "  It  makes  me  smile,"  he  chuckled,  "  every 
time  I  think  of  him  the  day  he  came  up  them 
stairs.  He  scared  me  half  to  death,  he  did,  and 
then  he  says,  just  as  stiff  as  you  please,  'If  you'll 
leave  me  alone,  Mr.  Meakim,  I'll  not  trouble  you.' 
And  now  it's  '  Meakim  this,'  and  '  Meakim  that,' 
and  'have  a  drink,  Meakim,'  just  as  thick  as 
thieves.  I  have  to  laugh  whenever  I  think  of  it 
now.  '  If  you'll  leave  me  alone,  I'll  not  trouble 
you,  Mr.  Meakim.'  " 

Carroll  pursed  his  lips  and  looked  up  at  the 
broad  expanse  of  purple  heavens  with  the  white 
stars  shining  through.  "  It's  rather  a  pity,  too,  in 
a  way,"  he  said,  slowly.  "  He  was  all  the  Public 
Opinion  we  had,  and  now  that  he's  thrown  up  the 
part,  why — " 

The  pig -sticking  came  to  an  end  finally,  and 
Holcombe  distinguished  himself  by  taking  his 
first  fall,  and  under  romantic  circumstr  es.  He 
was  in  an  open  place,  with  Mrs.  Carroll  at  the  edge 
of  the  brush  to  his  right,  and  Miss  Terrill  guard 
ing  any  approach  from  the  left.  They  were  too 
far  apart  to  speak  to  one  another,  and  sat  quite 
still  and  alert  to  any  noise  as  the  beaters  closed  in 


40  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

around  them.  There  was  a  sharp  rustle  in  the 
reeds,  and  the  boar  broke  out  of  it  some  hundred 
feet  ahead  of  Holcombe.  He  went  after  it  at  a 
gallop,  headed  it  off,  and  ran  it  fairly  on  his  spear 
point  as  it  came  towards  him  ;  but  as  he  drew  his 
lance  clear  his  horse  came  down,  falling  across 
him,  and  for  the  instant  knocking  him  breathless. 
It  was  all  over  in  a  moment.  He  raised  his  head 
to  see  the  boar  turn  and  charge  him ;  he  saw  where 
his  spear  point  had  torn  the  lower  lip  from  the 
long  tusks,  and  that  the  blood  was  pouring  down 
its  flank.  He  tried  to  draw  out  his  legs,  but  the 
pony  lay  fairly  across  him,  kicking  and  struggling, 
and  held  him  in  a  vise.  So  he  closed  his  eyes  and 
covered  his  head  with  his  arms,  and  crouched  in 
a  heap  waiting.  There  was  the  quick  beat  of  a 
pony's  hoofs  on  the  hard  soil,  and  the  rush  of  the 
boar  within  a  foot  of  his  head,  and  when  he  looked 
up  he  saw  Miss  Terrill  twisting  her  pony's  head 
around  to  charge  the  boar  again,  and  heard  her 
shout  "  Let  me  have  him  !"  to  Mrs.  Carroll. 

Mrs.  Carroll  came  towards  Holcombe  with  her 
spear  pointed  dangerously  high  ;  she  stopped  at 
his  side  and  drew  in  her  rein  sharply.  "  Why 
don't  you  get  up?  are  you  hurt?"  she  said. 
•"  Wait;  lie  still,"  she  commanded,  "or  he'll  tramp 
.on  you.  I'll  get  him  off."  She  slipped  from  her 
saddle  and  dragged  Holcombe's  pony  to  his  feet. 
Holcombe  stood  up  unsteadily,  pale  through  his 
tan  from  the  pain  of  the  fall  and  the  moment  of 
fear. 


THE    EXILES  41 

"  That  was  nasty,"  said  Mrs.  Carroll,  with  a 
quick  breath.  She  was  quite  as  pale  as  he. 

Hoi  combe  wiped  the  dirt  from  his  hair  and  the 
side  of  his  face,  and  looked  past  her  to  where 
Miss  Terrill  was  surveying  the  dead  boar  from 
her  saddle,  while  her  pony  reared  and  shied,  quiv 
ering  with  excitement  beneath  her.  Holcombe 
mounted  stiffly  and  rode  towards  her.  "  I  am 
very  much  obliged  to  you,"  he  said.  "If  you 
hadn't  come — " 

The  girl  laughed  shortly,  and  shook  her  head 
without  looking  at  him.  "  Why,  not  at  all,"  she 
interrupted,  quickly.  "  I  would  have  come  just 
as  fast  if  you  hadn't  been  there."  She  turned  in 
her  saddle  and  looked  at  him  frankly.  "  I  was 
glad  to  see  you  go  down,"  she  said,  "  for  it  gave 
me  the  first  good  chance  I've  had.  Are  you  hurt  ?" 

Holcombe  drew  himself  up  stiffly,  regardless  of 
the  pain  in  his  neck  and  shoulder.  "No,  I'm  all 
right,  thank  you,"  he  answered.  "At  the  same 
time,"  he  called  after  her  as  she  moved  away  to 
meet  the  others,  "you  did  save  me  from  being 
torn  up,  whether  you  like  it  or  not." 

Mrs.  Carroll  was  looking  after  the  girl  with  ob 
servant,  comprehending  eyes.  She  turned  to  Hol 
combe  with  a  smile.  "There  are  a  few  things 
you  have  still  to  learn,  Mr.  Holcombe,"  she  said, 
bowing  in  her  saddle  mockingly,  and  dropping 
the  point  of  her  spear  to  him  as  an  adversary  does 
in  salute.  "And  perhaps,"  she  added,  "  it  is  just 
as  well  that  there  are." 

4 


42  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

Ilolcombe  trotted  after  her  in  some  concern. 
'"I  wonder  what  she  means?"  he  said.  "I  won 
der  if  I  were  rude  ?" 

The  pig-sticking  ended  with  a  long  luncheon 
before  the  ride  back  to  town,  at  which  every 
thing  that  could  be  eaten  or  drunk  was  put  on  the 
table,  in  order,  as  Meakim  explained,  that  there 
would  be  less  to  carry  back.  He  met  Ilolcombe 
that  same  evening  after  the  cavalcade  had  reached 
Tangier  as  the  latter  came  down  the  stairs  of  the 
Albion.  Ilolcombe  was  in  fresh  raiment  and 
cleanly  shaven,  and  with  the  radiant  air  of  one 
who  had  had  his  first  comfortable  bath  in  a  week. 

Meakim  confronted  him  with  a  smiling  counte 
nance.  "  Who  do  you  think  come  to-night  on  the 
mail-boat  ?"  he  asked. 

"I  don't  know.     Who?" 

"  Winthrop  Allen,  with  six  trunks,"  said  Mea 
kim,  with  the  triumphant  air  of  one  who  brings 
important  news. 

"No,  really  now,"  said  Holcombe,  laughing. 
"  The  old  hypocrite  !  I  wonder  what  he'll  say 
when  he  sees  me.  I  wish  I  could  stay  over  an 
other  boat,  just  to  remind  him  of  the  last  time  we 
met.  What  a  fraud  he  is  !  It  was  at  the  club, 
and  he  was  congratulating  me  on  my  noble  efforts 
in  the  cause  of  justice,  arid  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
He  said  I  was  a  public  benefactor.  And  at  that 
time  he  must  have  already  speculated  away 
about  half  of  what  he  had  stolen  of  other  people's 
money.  I'd  like  to  tease  him  about  it." 


THE    EXILES  43 

"  What  trial  was  that  ?"  asked  Meakim. 

Holcombe  laughed  and  shook  his  head  as  he 
moved  on  down  the  stairs.  "Don't  ask  embar 
rassing  questions,  Meakim,"  he  said.  "It  was 
one  you  won't  forget  in  a  hurry." 

"  Oh !"  said  Meakim,  with  a  grin.  "  All  right. 
There's  some  mail  for  you  in  the  office." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Holcombe. 

A  few  hours  later  Carroll  was  watching  the 
roulette  wheel  in  the  gambling-hall  of  the  Isa 
bella  when  he  saw  Meakim  come  in  out  of  the 
darkness,  and  stand  staring  in  the  doorway,  blink 
ing  at  the  lights  and  mopping  his  face.  He  had 
been  running,  and  was  visibly  excited.  Carroll 
crossed  over  to  him  and  pushed  him  out  into  the 
quiet  of  the  terrace.  "  What  is  it  ?"  he  asked. 

"Have  you  seen  Holcombe?"  Meakim  de 
manded  in  reply. 

" Not  since  this  afternoon.     Why?" 

Meakim  breathed  heavily,  and  fanned  himself 
with  his  hat.  "  Well,  he's  after  Wintbrop  Allen, 
that's  all,"  he  panted.  "  And  when  he  finds  him 
there's  going  to  be  a  muss.  The  boy's  gone  crazy. 
He's  not  safe." 

"Why?  What  do  you  mean?  What's  Allen 
done  to  him  ?" 

"  Nothing  to  him,  but  to  a  friend  of  his.  He 
got  a  letter  to-night  in  the  mail  that  came  with 
Allen.  It  was  from  his  sister.  She  wrote  him  all 
the  latest  news  about  Allen,  and  give  him  fits 


44  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

for  robbing  an  old  lady  who's  been  kind  to  her. 
She  wanted  that  Holcombe  should  come  right 
back  and  see  what  could  be  done  about  it.  She 
didn't  know,  of  course,  that  Allen  was  coming 
here.  The  old  lady  kept  a  private  school  on  Fifth 
Avenue,  and  Allen  had  charge  of  her  savings." 

"What  is  her  name  ?"  Carroll  asked. 

"  Field,  I  think.     Martha  Field  was—" 

"The  dirty  blackguard!"  cried  Carroll.  He 
turned  sharply  away  and  returned  again  to  seize 
Meakim's  arm.  "Go  on,"  he  demanded.  "What 
did  she  say?" 

"  You  know  her  too,  do  you  ?"  said  Meakirn, 
shaking  his  head  sympathetically.  "  Well,  that's 
all.  She  used  to  teach  his  sister.  She  seems  to 
be  a  sort  of  fashionable — " 

"I  know,"  said  Carroll,  roughly.  "She  taught 
my  sister.  She  teaches  everybody's  sister.  She's 
the  sweetest,  simplest  old  soul  that  ever  lived. 
Holcombe's  dead  right  to  be  angry.  She  almost 
lived  at  their  house  when  his  sister  was  ill." 

"  Tut !  you  don't  say  ?"  commented  Meakin, 
gravely.  "Well,  his  sister's  pretty  near  crazy 
about  it.  He  give  me  the  letter  to  read.  It  got 
me  all  stirred  up.  It  was  just  writ  in  blood.  She 
must  be  a  fine  girl,  his  sister.  She  says  this  Miss 
Martha's  money  was  the  last  thing  Allen  took. 
He  didn't  use  her  stuff  to  speculate  with,  but 
cashed  it  in  just  before  he  sailed  and  took  it  with 
him  for  spending-money.  His  sister  says  she's 
too  proud  to  take  help,  and  she's  too  old  to  work." 


THE    EXILES  45 

"  How  much  did  he  take  ?" 

"  Sixty  thousand.  She'd  been  saving  for  over 
forty  years." 

Carroll's  mind  took  a  sudden  turn.  "  And  Hoi- 
combe  ?"  he  demanded,  eagerly.  "What  is  he 
going  to  do  ?  Nothing  silly,  I  hope." 

"Well,  that's  just  it.  That's  why  I  come  to 
find  you,"  Meakim  answered,  uneasily.  "  I  don't 
want  him  to  qualify  for  no  Criminal  Stakes.  I 
got  no  reason  to  love  him  either —  But  you 
know — "  he  ended,  impotently. 

"Yes,  I  understand,"  said  Carroll.  "That's 
what  I  meant.  Confound  the  boy,  why  didn't 
he  stay  in  his  law  courts!  What  did  he  say?" 

"  Oh,  he  just  raged  around.  He  said  he'd  tell 
Allen  there  was  an  extradition  treaty  that  Allen 
didn't  know  about,  and  that  if  Allen  didn't  give 
him  the  sixty  thousand  he'd  put  it  in  force  and 
make  him  go  back  and  stand  trial." 

"  Compounding  a  felony,  is  he  ?" 

"  No,  nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  Meakim,  indig 
nantly.  "  There  isn't  any  extradition  treaty,  so 
he  wouldn't  be  doing  anything  wrong  except  ly 
ing  a  bit." 

"  Well,  it's  blackmail,  anyway." 

"  What,  blackmail  a  man  like  Allen  ?  Huh  ! 
He's  fair  game,  if  there  ever  was  any.  But  it 
won't  work  with  him,  that's  what  I'm  afraid  of. 
He's  too  cunning  to  be  taken  in  by  it,  he  is.  He 
had  good  legal  advice  before  he  came  here,  or  he 
wouldn't  have  come." 


46  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

Carroll  was  pacing  up  and  down  the  terrace. 
He  stopped  and  spoke  over  his  shoulder.  "  Does 
Holcombe  think  Allen  has  the  money  with  him?" 
he  asked. 

"  Yes,  he's  sure  of  it.  That's  what  makes  him 
so  keen.  He  says  Allen  wouldn't  dare  bank  it 
at  Gibraltar,  because  if  he  ever  went  over  there 
to  draw  on  it  he  would  get  caught,  so  he  must 
have  brought  it  with  him  here.  And  he  got 
here  so  late  that  Holcombe  believes  it's  in  Al 
len's  rooms  now,  and  he's  like  a  dog  that  smells 
a  rat,  after  it.  Allen  wasn't  in  when  he  went 
up  to  his  room,  and  he's  started  out  hunting 
for  him,  and  if  he  don't  find  him  I  shouldn't  be  a 
bit  surprised  if  he  broke  into  the  room  and  just 
took  it." 

"  For  God's  sake !"  cried  Carroll.  "He  wouldn't 
do  that  ?" 

Meakim  pulled  and  fingered  at  his  heavy  watch- 
chain  and  laughed  doubtfully.  "I  don't  know," 
he  said.  "  He  wouldn't  have  done  it  three 
months  ago,  but  he's  picked  up  a  great  deal  since 
then — since  he  has  been  with  us.  He's  asking  for 
Captain  Reese,  too." 

"  What's  he  want  with  that  blackguard  ?" 

"  I  don't  know;  he  didn't  tell  me." 

"  Come,"  said  Carroll,  quickly.  "  We  must  stop 
him."  He  ran  lightly  down  the  steps  of  the  ter 
race  to  the  beach,  with  Meakim  waddling  heavily 
after  him.  "  He's  got  too  much  at  stake,  Mea 
kim,"  he  said,  in  half  apology,  as  they  tramped 


THE    EXILES  47 

through  the  sand.  "He  mustn't  spoil  it.  We 
won't  let  him." 

Holcombe  had  searched  the  circuit  of  Tangier's 
small  extent  with  fruitless  effort,  his  anger  in 
creasing  momentarily  and  feeding  on  each  fresh 
disappointment.  When  he  had  failed  to  find  the 
man  he  sought  in  any  place,  he  returned  to  the 
hotel  and  pushed  open  the  door  of  the  smoking- 
room  as  fiercely  as  though  he  meant  to  take  those 
within  by  surprise. 

"Has  Mr.  Allen  returned  ?"  he  demanded.  "Or 
Captain  Reese  ?"  The  attendant  thought  not,  but 
he  would  go  and  see.  "  No,"  Holcombe  said,  "  I 
will  look  for  myself."  He  sprang  up  the  stairs  to 
the  third  floor,  and  turned  down  a  passage  to  a 
door  at  its  farthest  end.  Here  he  stopped  and 
knocked  gently.  "  Reese,"  he  called  ;  "  Reese  !" 
There  was  no  response  to  his  summons,  and  he 
knocked  again,  with  more  impatience,  and  then 
cautiously  turned  the  handle  of  the  door,  and,  push 
ing  it  forward,  stepped  into  the  room.  "  Reese," 
he  said,  softly,  "it's  Holcombe.  Are  you  here?" 
The  room  was  dark  except  for  the  light  from  the 
hall,  which  shone  dimly  past  him  and  fell  upon  a 
gun- rack  hanging  on  the  wall  opposite.  Hol 
combe  hurried  towards  this  and  ran  his  hands 
over  it,  and  passed  on  quickly  from  that  to  the 
mantel  and  the  tables,  stumbling  over  chairs  and 
riding-boots  as  he  groped  about,  and  tripping  on 
the  skin  of  some  animal  that  lay  stretched  upon 
the  floor.  He  felt  his  way  around  the  entire  cir- 


48  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

cuit  of  the  room,  and  halted  near  the  door  with  an 
exclamation  of  disappointment.  By  this  time  his 
eyes  had  become  accustomed  to  the  darkness,  and 
he  noted  the  white  surface  of  the  bed  in  a  far 
corner  and  ran  quickly  towards  it,  groping  with 
his  hands  about  the  posts  at  its  head.  He  closed 
his  fingers  with  a  quick  gasp  of  satisfaction  on  a 
leather  belt  that  hung  from  it,  heavy  with  car 
tridges  and  a  revolver  that  swung  from  its  holder. 
Holcombe  pulled  this  out  and  jerked  back  the 
lever,  spinning  the  cylinder  around  under  the 
edge  of  his  thumb.  He  felt  the  grease  of  each 
cartridge  as  it  passed  under  his  nail.  The  re 
volver  was  loaded  in  each  chamber,  and  Holcombe 
slipped  it  into  the  pocket  of  his  coat  and  crept 
out  of  the  room,  closing  the  door  softly  behind 
him.  He  met  no  one  in  the  hall  or  on  the  stairs, 
and  passed  on  quickly  to  a  room  on  the  second 
floor.  There  was  a  light  in  this  room  which 
showed  through  the  transom  and  under  the  crack 
at  the  floor,  and  there  was  a  sound  of  some  one 
moving  about  within.  Holcombe  knocked  gently 
and  waited. 

The  movement  on  the  other  side  of  the  door 
ceased,  and  after  a  pause  a  voice  asked  who  was 
there.  Holcombe  hesitated  a  second  before  an 
swering,  and  then  said,  "  It  is  a  servant,  sir,  with 
a  note  for  Mr.  Allen." 

At  the  sound  of  some  one  moving  towards  the 
door  from  within,  Holcombe  threw  his  shoulder 
against  the  panel  and  pressed  forward.  There 


THE    EXILES  49 

was  the  click  of  the  key  turning  in  the  lock  and 
of  the  withdrawal  of  a  bolt,  and  the  door  was 
partly  opened.  Holcorabe  pushed  it  back  with 
his  shoulder,  and,  stepping  quickly  inside,  closed 
it  again  behind  him. 

The  man  within,  into  whose  presence  he  had 
forced  himself,  confronted  him  with  a  look  of 
some  alarm,  which  increased  in  surprise  as  he 
recognized  his  visitor.  "Why,  Holcombe!"  he 
exclaimed.  He  looked  past  him  as  though  ex 
pecting  some  one  else  to  follow.  "  I  thought  it 
was  a  servant,"  he  said. 

Holcombe  made  no  answer,  but  surveyed  the 
other  closely,  and  with  a  smile  of  content.  The 
man  before  him  was  of  erect  carriage,  with  white 
hair  and  whiskers,  cut  after  an  English  fashion 
which  left  the  mouth  and  chin  clean  shaven.  He 
was  of  severe  and  dignified  appearance,  and 
though  standing  as  he  was  in  dishabille  still  gave 
in  his  bearing  the  look  of  an  elderly  gentleman 
who  had  lived  a  self-respecting,  well-cared-for, 
and  well-ordered  life.  The  room  about  him  was 
littered  with  the  contents  of  opened  trunks  and 
uncorded  boxes.  He  had  been  interrupted  in  the 
task  of  unpacking  and  arranging  these  posses 
sions,  but  he  stepped  unresentf ully  towards  the 
bed  where  his  coat  lay,  and  pulled  it  on,  feeling 
at  the  open  collar  of  his  shirt,  and  giving  a  glance 
of  apology  towards  the  disorder  of  the  apart 
ment. 

"  The  night  was  so  warm,"  he  said,  in  explana- 


50  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

tion.  "  I  have  been  trying  to  get  things  to  rights. 
I —  He  was  speaking  in  some  obvious  embar 
rassment,  and  looked  uncertainly  towards  the  in 
truder  for  help.  But  Holcombe  made  no  explana 
tion,  and  gave  him  no  greeting.  "  I  heard  in  the 
hotel  that  you  were  here,"  the  other  continued, 
still  striving  to  cover  up  the  difficulty  of  the  situ 
ation,  "  and  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  you  are  going 
so  soon."  He  stopped,  and  as  Holcombe  still  con 
tinued  smiling,  drew  himself  up  stiffly.  The  look 
on  his  face  hardened  into  one  of  offended  dignity. 

"  Really,  Mr.  Holcombe,"  he  said,  sharply,  and 
with  strong  annoyance  in  his  tone,  "  if  you  have 
forced  yourself  into  this  room  for  no  other  pur 
pose  than  to  stand  there  and  laugh,  I  must  ask 
you  to  leave  it.  You  may  not  be  conscious  of  it, 
but  your  manner  is  offensive."  He  turned  im 
patiently  to  the  table,  and  began  rearranging  the 
papers  upon  it.  Holcombe  shifted  the  weight  of 
his  body  as  it  rested  against  the  door  from  one 
shoulder-blade  to  the  other  and  closed  his  hands 
over  the  door-knob  behind  him. 

"  I  had  a  letter  to-night  from  home  about  you, 
Allen,"  he  began,  comfortably.  "The  person  who 
wrote  it  was  anxious  that  I  should  return  to  New 
York,  and  set  things  working  in  the  District  At 
torney's  office  in  order  to  bring  you  back.  It 
isn't  you  they  want  so  much  as — " 

"How  dare  you?"  cried  the  embezzler,  sternly, 
in  the  voice  with  which  one  might  interrupt  an 
other  in  words  of  shocking  blasphemy. 


THE    EXILES  51 

"  How  dare  I  what?"  asked  Holcombe. 
"  How  dare  you  refer  to  my  misfortune  ?  You 
of  all  others — "  He  stopped,  and  looked  at  his 
visitor  with  flashing  eyes.  "I  thought  you  a 
gentleman,"  he  said,  reproachfully  ;  "  I  thought 
you  a  man  of  the  world,  a  man  who  in  spite  of 
your  office,  official  position,  or,  rather,  on  account 
of  it,  could  feel  and  understand  the — a — terrible 
position  in  which  I  am  placed,  and  that  you 
would  show  consideration.  Instead  of  which,"  he 
cried,  his  voice  rising  in  indignation,  "  you  have 
come  apparently  to  mock  at  me.  If  the  instinct 
of  a  gentleman  does  not  teach  you  to  be  silent,  I 
shall  have  to  force  you  to  respect  my  feelings. 
You  can  leave  the  room,  sir.  Now,  at  once."  He 
pointed  with  his  arm  at  the  door  against  which 
Holcombe  was  leaning,  the  fingers  of  his  out 
stretched  hand  trembling  visibly. 

"  Nonsense.  Your  misfortune  !  What  rot !" 
Holcombe  growled  resentfully.  His  eyes  wandered 
around  the  room  as  though  looking  for  some  one 
who  might  enjoy  the  situation  with  him,  and  then 
returned  to  Allen's  face.  "  You  mustn't  talk  like 
that  to  me,"  he  said,  in  serious  remonstrance. 
"  A  man  who  has  robbed  people  who  trusted  him 
for  three  years,  as  you  have  done,  can't  afford  to 
talk  of  his  misfortune.  You  were  too  long  about 
it,  Allen.  You  had  too  many  chances  to  put  it 
back.  You've  no  feelings  to  be  hurt.  Besides,  if 
you  have,  I'm  in  a  hurry,  and  I've  not  the  time  to 
consider  them.  Now,  what  I  want  of  you  is— 


52  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

"  Mr.  Holcombe,"  interrupted  the  other,  ear. 
nestly. 

"  Sir,"  replied  the  visitor. 

"  Mr.  Holcombe,"  began  Allen,  slowly,  and  with 
impressive  gravity,  "  I  do  not  want  any  words 
with  you  about  this,  or  with  any  one  else.  I  am 
here  owing  to  a  combination  of  circumstances 
which  have  led  me  through  hopeless,  endless 
trouble.  What  I  have  gone  through  with  no 
body  knows.  That  is  something^no  one  but  I  can 
ever  understand.  But  that  is  now  at  an  end.  I 
have  taken  refuge  in  flight  and  safety,  where 
another  might  have  remained  and  compromised 
and  suffered  ;  but  I  am  a  weaker  brother,  and — 
as  for  punishment,  my  own  conscience,  which  has 
punished  me  so  terribly  in  the  past,  will  continue 
to  do  so  in  the  future.  I  am  greatly  to  be  pitied, 
Mr.  Holcombe,  greatly  to  be  pitied.  And  no  one 
knows  that  better  than  yourself.  You  know  the 
value  of  the  position  I  held  in  New  York  city, 
and  how  well  I  was  suited  to  it,  and  it  to  me. 
And  now  I  am  robbed  of  it  all.  I  am  an  exile  in 
this  wilderness.  Surely,  Mr.  Holcombe,  this  is 
not  the  place  nor  the  time  when  you  should  in 
sult  me  by  recalling  the — " 

"  You  contemptible  hypocrite,"  said  Holcombe, 
slowly.  "  What  an  ass  you  must  think  I  am  ! 
Now,  listen  to  me." 

"  No,  you  listen  to  me,"  thundered  the  other. 
He  stepped  menacingly  forward,  his  chest  heav 
ing  under  his  open  shirt,  and  his  fingers  opening 


THE    EXILES  53 

and  closing  at  his  side.  "  Leave  the  room,  I  tell 
you,"  he  cried,  "  or  I  shall  call  the  servants  and 
make  you!"  He  paused  with  a  short,  mocking 
laugh.  "Who  do  you  think  I  am  ?"  he  asked  ; 
"  a  child  that  you  can  insult  and  jibe  at  ?  I'm 
not  a  prisoner  in  the  box  for  you  to  browbeat 
and  bully,  Mr.  District  Attorney.  You  seem  to 
forget  that  I  am  out  of  your  jurisdiction  now." 

He  waited,  and  his  manner  seemed  to  invite 
Holcombe  to  make  some  angry  answer  to  his 
tone,  but  the  young  man  remained  grimly  silent. 

"  You  are  a  very  important  young  person  at 
home,  Harry,"  Allen  went  on,  mockingly.  "  But 
New  York  State  laws  do  not  reach  as  far  as 
Africa." 

"  Quite  right  ;  that's  it  exactly,"  said  Hol 
combe,  with  cheerful  alacrity.  "  I'm  glad  you 
have  grasped  the  situation  so  soon.  That  makes 
it  easier  for  me.  Now,  what  I  have  been  trying 
to  tell  you  is  this.  I  received  a  letter  about  you 
to-night.  It  seems  that  before  leaving  New  York 
you  converted  bonds  and  mortgages  belonging  to 
Miss  Martha  Field,  which  she  had  intrusted  to 
you,  into  ready  money.  And  that  you  took  this 
money  with  you.  Now,  as  this  is  the  first  place 
you  have  stopped  since  leaving  New  York,  except 
Gibraltar,  where  you  could  not  have  banked  it, 
you  must  have  it  with  you  now,  here  in  this 
town,  in  this  hotel,  possibly  in  this  room.  What 
else  you  have  belonging  to  other  poor  devils  and 
corporations  does  not  concern  me.  It's  yours  as 


54  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER   STOHIES 

far  as  I  mean  to  do  anything  about  it.  But  this 
sixty  thousand  dollars  which  belongs  to  Miss 
Field,  who  is  the  best,  purest,  and  kindest  woman 
I  have  ever  known,  and  who  has  given  away  more 
money  than  you  ever  stole,  is  going  back  with  me 
to-morrow  to  New  York."  Holcombe  leaned  for 
ward  as  he  spoke,  and  rapped  with  his  knuckles 
on  the  table.  Allen  confronted  him  in  amaze 
ment,  in  which  there  was  not  so  much  surprise  at 
what  the  other  threatened  to  do  as  at  the  fact 
that  it  was  he  who  had  proposed  doing  it. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  he  said,  slowly,  with  the 
air  of  a  bewildered  child. 

"It's  plain  enough,"  replied  the  other,  impa 
tiently.  "I  tell  you  I  want  sixty  thousand  dol 
lars  of  the  money  you  have  with  you.  You  can 
understand  that,  can't  you  ?" 

"  But  how  ?"  expostulated  Allen.  "  You  don't 
mean  to  rob  me,  do  you,  Harry  ?"  he  asked,  with 
a  laugh. 

"  You're  a  very  stupid  person  for  so  clever  a 
one,"  Holcombe  said,  impatiently.  "  You  must 
give  me  sixty  thousand  dollars — and  if  you  don't, 
I'll  take  it.  Come,  'now,  where  is  it — in  that 
box?"  He  pointed  with  his  finger  towards  a 
square  travelling-case  covered  with  black  leather 
that  stood  open  on  the  table  filled  with  papers 
and  blue  envelopes. 

"Take  it!"  exclaimed  Allen.  "You,  Henry 
Holcombe  ?  Is  it  you  who  are  speaking  ?  Do  I 
hear  you  ?"  He  looked  at  Holcombe  with  eyes 


THE    EXILES  55 

full  of  genuine  wonder  and  a  touch  of  fear.  As 
he  spoke  his  hand  reached  out  mechanically  and 
drew  the  leather-bound  box  towards  him. 

"Ah,  it  is  in  that  box,  then,"  said  Holcombe,  in 
a  quiet,  grave  tone.  "  Now  count  it  out,  and  be 
quick." 

"Are  you  drunk?"  cried  the  other,  fiercely. 
"  Do  you  propose  to  turn  highwayman  and  thief? 
What  do  you  mean  ?"  Holcombe  reached  quick 
ly  across  the  table  towards  the  box,  but  the  other 
drew  it  back,  snapping  the  lid  down,  and  hugging 
it  close  against  his  breast.  "  If  you  move,  Hol 
combe,"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  of  terror  and  warn 
ing,  "I'll  call  the  people  of  the  house  and  —  and 
expose  you." 

"  Expose  me,  you  idiot,"  returned  Helcombe, 
fiercely.  "  How  dare  you  talk  to  me  like  that  !" 

Allen  dragged  the  table  more  evenly  between 
them,  as  a  general  works  on  his  defences  even 
while  he  parleys  with  the  enemy.  "  It's  you  who 
are  the  idiot !"  he  cried.  "  Suppose  you  could 
overcome  me,  which  would  be  harder  than  you 
think,  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  the  money  ? 
Do  you  suppose  I'd  let  you  leave  this  country 
with  it  ?  Do  you  imagine  for  a  moment  that  I 
would  give  it  up  without  raising  my  hand  ?  I'd 
have  you  dragged  to  prison  from  your  bed  this 
very  night,  or  I'd  have  you  seized  as  you  set  your 
foot  upon  the  wharf.  I  would  appeal  to  our 
Consul-General.  As  far  as  he  knows,  I  am  as 
worthy  of  protection  as  you  are  yourself,  and,  fail- 


56  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STOKIES 

ing  him,  I'd  appeal  to  the  law  of  the  land."  He 
stopped  for  want  of  breath,  and  then  began  again 
with  the  air  of  one  who  finds  encouragement  in 
the  sound  of  his  own  voice.  "  They  may  not  under 
stand  extradition  here,  Holcombe,"  he  said,  "  but 
a  thief  is  a  thief  all  the  world  over.  What  you 
may  be  in  New  York  isn't  going  to  help  you  here  ; 
neither  is  your  father's  name.  To  these  people 
you  would  be  only  a  hotel  thief  who  forces  his 
way  into  other  men's  rooms  at  night  and — " 

"  You  poor  thing,"  interrupted  Holcombe. 
"Do  you  know  where  you  are?"  he  demanded. 
"  You  talk,  Allen,  as  though  we  were  within 
sound  of  the  cable-cars  on  Broadway.  This  hotel 
is  not  the  Brunswick,  and  this  Consul-General 
you  speak  of  is  another  blackguard  who  knows 
that  a  word  from  me  at  Washington,  on  my  re 
turn,  or  a  letter  from  here  would  lose  him  his 
place  and  his  liberty.  He's  as  much  of  a  rascal 
as  any  of  them,  and  he  knows  that  I  know  it  and 
that  I  may  use  that  knowledge.  lie  won't  help 
you.  And  as  for  the  law  of  the  land " — Hoi- 
combe's  voice  rose  and  broke  in  a  mocking  laugh 
— "  there  is  no  law  of  the  land.  That's  why  you're 
here!  You  are  in  a  place  populated  by  exiles 
and  outlaws  like  yourself,  who  have  preyed  upon 
society  until  society  has  turned  and  frightened 
each  of  them  off  like  a  dog  with  his  tail  between 
his  legs.  Don't  give  yourself  confidence,  Allen. 
That's  all  you  are,  that's  all  we  are — two  dogs 
fighting  for  a  stolen  bone.  The  man  who  rules 


THE    EXILES  57 

you  here  is  an  ignorant  negro,  debauched  and 
vicious  and  a  fanatic.  He  is  shut  off  from  every 
one,  even  to  the  approach  of  a  British  ambassador. 
And  what  do  you  suppose  he  cares  for  a  dog 
of  a  Christian  like  you,  who  has  been  robbed  in 
a  hotel  by  another  Christian  ?  And  these  others. 
Do  you  suppose  they  care  ?  Call  out  —  cry  for 
help,  and  tell  them  that  you  have  half  a  million 
dollars  in  this  room,  and  they  will  fall  on  you 
and  strip  you  of  every  cent  of  it,  and  leave  you 
to  walk  the  beach  for  work.  Now,  what  are  you 
going  to  do?  Will  you  give  me  the  money  I 
want  to  take  back  where  it  belongs,  or  will  you 
call  for  help  and  lose  it  all  ?" 

The  two  men  confronted  each  other  across  the 
narrow  length  of  the  table.  The  blood  had  run 
to  Holcombe's  face,  but  the  face  of  the  other  was 
drawn  and  pale  with  fear. 

"  You  can't  frighten  me,"  he  gasped,  rallying 
his  courage  with  an  effort  of  the  will.  "  You  are 
talking  nonsense.  This  is  a  respectable  hotel ;  it 
isn't  a  den  of  thieves.  You  are  trying  to  frighten 
me  out  of  the  money  with  your  lies  and  your 
lawyer's  tricks,  but  you  will  find  that  I  am  not  so 
easily  fooled.  You  are  dealing  with  a  man,  Hoi- 
combe,  who  suffered  to  get  what  he  has,  and  who 
doesn't  mean  to  let  it  go  without  a  fight  for  it. 
Come  near  me,  I  warn  you,  and  I  shall  call  for 
help." 

Holcombe  backed  slowly  away  from  the  table 
and  tossed  up  his  hands  with  the  gesture  of  one 


58  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

who  gives  up  his  argument.  "  You  will  have  it, 
will  you  ?"  he  muttered,  grimly.  "  Very  well, 
you  shall  fight  for  it."  He  turned  quickly  and 
drove  in  the  bolt  of  the  door  and  placed  his  shoul 
ders  over  the  electric  button  in  the  wall.  "  I  have 
warned  you,"  he  said,  softly.  "  I  have  told  you 
where  you  are,  and  that  you  have  nothing  to  ex 
pect  from  the  outside.  You  are  absolutely  in  my 
power  to  do  with  as  I  please."  He  stopped,  and, 
without  moving  his  eyes  from  Allen's  face,  drew 
the  revolver  from  the  pocket  of  his  coat.  His 
manner  was  so  terrible  that  Allen  gazed  at  him, 
breathing  faintly,  and  with  his  eyes  fixed  in  hor 
rible  fascination.  "  There  is  no  law,"  Holcombe 
repeated,  softly.  "  There  is  no  help  for  you  now 
or  later.  It  is  a  question  of  two  men  locked  in  a 
room  with  a  table  and  sixty  thousand  dollars  be 
tween  them.  That  is  the  situation.  Two  men 
and  sixty  thousand  dollars.  We  have  returned  to 
first  principles,  Allen.  It  is  a  man  against  a  man, 
and  there  is  no  Court  of  Appeal." 

Allen's  breath  came  back  to  him  with  a  gasp, 
as  though  he  had  been  shocked  with  a  sudden 
downpour  of  icy  water. 

"There  is!"  he  cried.  "There  is  a  Court  of 
Appeal.  For  God's  sake,  wait.  I  appeal  to  Henry 
Holcombe,  to  Judge  Holcombe's  son.  I  appeal 
to  your  good  name,  Harry,  to  your  fame  in  the 
world.  Think  what  you  are  doing ;  for  the  love 
of  God,  don't  murder  me.  I'm  a  criminal,  I  know, 
but  not  what  you  would  be,  Holcombe ;  not  that. 


T1IE    EXILES  50 

You  are  mad  or  drunk.  You  wouldn't,  you  couldn't 
doit.  Think  of  it!  Tow,  Henry  Holcom  be.  You" 

The  fingers  of  Holeombe's  hand  moved  and 
tightened  around  the  butt  of  the  pistol,  the  sweat 
sprang  from  the  pores  of  his  palm.  He  raised  the 
revolver  and  pointed  it.  "  My  sin's  on  my  own 
head,"  he  said.  "Give  me  the  money." 

The  older  man  glanced  fearfully  back  of  him 
at  the  open  window,  through  which  a  sea  breeze 
moved  the  palms  outside,  so  that  they  seemed  to 
whisper  together  as  though  aghast  at  the  scene 
before  them.  The  window  was  three  stories  from 
the  ground,  and  Allen's  eyes  returned  to  the  stern 
face  of  the  younger  man.  As  they  stood  silent 
there  came  to  them  the  sound  of  some  one  moving 
in  the  hall,  and  of  men's  voices  whispering  to 
gether.  Allen's  face  lit  with  a  sudden  radiance 
of  hope,  and  Ilolcombe's  arm  moved  uncertainly. 

"  I  fancy,"  he  said,  iu  a  whisper,  "  that  those  are 
my  friends.  They  have  some  idea  of  my  purpose, 
and  they  have  come  to  learn  more.  If  you  call, 
I  will  let  them  in,  and  they  will  strangle  you  into 
silence  until  I  get  the  money." 

The  two  men  eyed  each  other  steadily,  the  older 
seeming  to  weigh  the  possible  truth  of  Holcombe's 
last  words  in  his  mind.  Holcombe  broke  the 
silence  in  a  lighter  tone. 

"  Playing  the  policeman  is  a  new  role  to  me," 
he  said,  "and  I  warn  you  that  I  have  but  little 
patience  ;  and,  besides,  my  hand  is  getting  tired, 
and  this  thing  is  at  full  cock." 


60  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

Allen,  for  the  first  time,  lowered  the  box  upon 
the  table  and  drew  from,  it  a  bundle  of  notes  bound 
together  with  elastic  bandages.  Holcombe's  eyes 
lighted  as  brightly  at  the  sight  as  though  the  notes 
were  for  his  own  private  pleasures  in  the  future. 

"  Be  quick  !"  he  said.  "  I  cannot  be  responsible 
for  the  men  outside." 

Allen  bent  over  the  money,  his  face  drawing 
into  closer  and  sharper  lines  as  the  amount  grew, 
under  his  fingers,  to  the  sum  Holcombe  had  de 
manded, 

"  Sixty  thousand !"  he  said,  in  a  voice  of  des 
perate  calm, 

"  Good  !"  whispered  Holcombe.  "  Pass  it  over 
to  me.  I  hope  I  have  taken  the  most  of  what  you 
have,"  he  said,  as  he  shoved  the  notes  into  his 
pocket ;  "  but  this  is  something.  Now  I  warn 
you,"  he  added,  as  he  lowered  the  trigger  of  the 
revolver  and  put  it  out  of  sight,  "that  any  at 
tempt  to  regain  this  will  be  futile.  I  am  sur 
rounded  by  friends ;  no  one  knows  you  or  cares 
about  you.  I  shall  sleep  in  my  room  to-night 
without  precaution,  for  I  know  that  the  money  is 
now  mine.  Nothing  you  can  do  will  recall  it. 
Your  cue  is  silence  and  secrecy  as  to  what  you 
have  lost  and  as  to  what  you  still  have  with  you." 

He  stopped  in  some  confusion,  interrupted  by  a 
sharp  knock  at  the  door  and  two  voices  calling 
his  name.  Allen  shrank  back  in  terror. 

"  You  coward  !"  he  hissed.  "  You  promised 
me  you'd  be  content  with  what  you  have."  Hoi- 


THE    EXILES  61 

combe  looked  at  him  in  Amazement.  "  And  now 
your  accomplices  are  to  have  their  share,  too,  are 
they  ?"  the  embezzler  whispered,  fiercely.  "  You 
lied  to  me  ;  you  mean  to  take  it  all." 

Holcombe,  for  an  answer,  drew  back  the  bolt, 
but  so  softly  that  the  sound  of  his  voice  drowned 
the  noise  it  made. 

"  No,  not  to-night,"  he  said,  briskly,  so  that  the 
sound  of  his  voice  penetrated  into  the  hall  be 
yond.  "I  mustn't  stop  any  longer,  I'm  keeping 
you  up.  It  has  been  very  pleasant  to  have  heard 
all  that  news  from  home.  It  was  such  a  chance, 
my  seeing  you  before  I  sailed.  Good-night."  He 
paused  and  pretended  to  listen.  "  No,  Allen,  I 
don't  think  it's  a  servant,"  he  said.  "  It's  some  of 
my  friends  looking  for  me.  This  is  my  last  night 
on  shore,  you  see."  He  threw  open  the  door  and 
confronted  Meakim  and  Carroll  as  they  stood  in 
some  confusion  in  the  dark  hall.  "  Yes,  it  is  some 
of  my  friends,"  Holcombe  continued.  "  I'll  be 
with  you  in  a  minute,"  he  said  to  them.  Then 
he  turned,  and,  crossing  the  room  in  their  sight, 
shook  Allen  by  the  hand,  and  bade  him  good 
night  and  good-bye. 

The  embezzler's  revulsion  of  feeling  was  so 
keen  and  the  relief  so  great  that  he  was  able  to 
smile  as  Holcombe  turned  and  left  him.  "  I  wish 
you  a  pleasant  voyage,"  he  said,  faintly. 

Then  Holcombe  shut  the  door  on  him,  closing 
him  out  from  their  sight.  He  placed  his  hands  on 
a  shoulder  of  each  of  the  two  men,  and  jumped 


62  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

step  by  step  down  the  stairs  like  a  boy  as  they 
descended  silently  in  front  of  him.  At  the  foot 
of  the  stairs  Carroll  turned  and  confronted  him 
sternly,  staring  him  in  the  face.  Meakim  at  one 
side  eyed  him  curiously. 

"  Well  ?"  said  Carroll,  with  one  hand  upon  Hoi- 
combe's  wrist. 

Holcombe  shook  his  hand  free,  laughing. 
"  Well,"  he  answered,  "  I  persuaded  him  to 
make  restitution." 

"  You  persuaded  him  !"  exclaimed  Carroll,  im 
patiently.  "  How  ?" 

Holcombe's  eyes  avoided  those  of  the  two  in 
quisitors.  He  drew  a  long  breath,  and  then  burst 
into  a  loud  fit  of  hysterical  laughter.  The  two 
men  surveyed  him  grimly.  "  I  argued  with  him, 
of  course,"  said  Holcombe,  gayly.  "  That  is  my 
business,  man  ;  you  forget  that  I  am  a  District 
Attorney— 

"  We  didn't  forget  it,"  said  Carroll,  fiercely. 
"  Did  you  f  What  did  you  do  ?" 

Holcombe  backed  away  up  the  stairs  shaking 
his  head  and  laughing.  "  I  shall  never  tell  you," 
he  said.  He  pointed  with  his  hand  down  the 
second  flight  of  stairs.  "  Meet  me  in  the  smoking- 
room,"  he  continued.  "  I  will  be  there  in  a  min 
ute,  and  we  will  have  a  banquet.  Ask  the  others 
to  come.  I  have  something  to  do  first." 

The  two  men  turned  reluctantly  away,  and  con 
tinued  on  down  the  stairs  without  speaking  and 
with  their  faces  filled  with  doubt.  Holcombe  ran 


THE    EXILES  63 

first  to  Reese's  room  and  replaced  the  pistol  in  its 
holder.  He  was  trembling  as  he  threw  the  thing 
from  him,  and  had  barely  reached  his  own  room 
and  closed  the  door  when  a  sudden  faintness  over 
came  him.  The  weight  he  had  laid  on  his  nerves 
was  gone  and  the  laughter  had  departed  from  his 
face.  He  stood  looking  back  at  what  he  had  es 
caped  as  a  man  reprieved  at  the  steps  of  the  gal 
lows  turns  his  head  to  glance  at  the  rope  he  has 
cheated.  Holcombe  tossed  the  bundle  of  notes 
upon  the  table  and  took  an  unsteady  step  across 
the  room.  Then  he  turned  suddenly  and  threw 
himself  upon  his  knees  and  buried  his  face  in  the 
pillow. 

The  sun  rose  the  next  morning  on  a  cool,  beau 
tiful  day,  and  the  consul's  boat,  with  the  Ameri 
can  flag  trailing  from  the  stern,  rose  and  fell  on 
the  bluest  of  blue  waters  as  it  carried  Holcombe 
and  his  friends  to  the  steamer's  side. 

"  We  are  going  to  miss  you  very  much,"  Mrs. 
Carroll  said.  "  I  hope  you  won't  forget  to  send 
us  word  of  yourself." 

Miss  Terrill  said  nothing.  She  was  leaning  over 
the  side  trailing  her  hand  in  the  water,  and  watch 
ing  it  run  between  her  slim  pink  fingers.  She 
raised  her  eyes  to  find  Holcombe  looking  at  her 
intently  with  a  strange  expression  of  wistfulness 
and  pity,  at  which  she  smiled  brightly  back  at 
him,  and  began  to  plan  vivaciously  with  Captain 
Reese  for  a  ride  that  same  afternoon. 

They  separated  over  the  steamer's  deck,  and 


64  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

Meakim,  for  the  hundredth  time,  and  in  the  lack 
of  conversation  which  comes  at  such  moments, 
offered  Hoi  combe  a  fresh  cigar. 

"  But  I  have  got  eight  of  yours  now,"  said  Hoi- 
combe. 

"  That's  all  right  ;  put  it  in  your  pocket,"  said 
the  Tammany  chieftain,  "and  smoke  it  after  din 
ner.  You'll  need  'em.  They're  better  than  those 
you'll  get  on  the  steamer,  and  they  never  went 
through  a  custom-house." 

Holcombe  cleared  his  throat  in  some  slight  em 
barrassment.  "Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for 
you  in  New  York,  Meakim  ?"  he  asked.  "  Any 
body  I  can  see,  or  to  whom  I  can  deliver  a  mes 
sage?" 

"  No,"  said  Meakim.  "  I  write  pretty  often. 
Don't  you  worry  about  me,"  he  added,  gratefully. 
"  I'll  be  back  there  some  day  myself,  when  the 
law  of  limitation  lets  me." 

Holcombe  laughed.  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  I'd  be 
glad  to  do  something  for  you  if  you'd  let  me  know 
what  you'd  like." 

Meakim  put  his  hands  behind  his  back  and 
puffed  meditatively  on  his  cigar,  rolling  it  be 
tween  his  lips  with  his  tongue.  Then  he  turned 
it  between  his  fingers  and  tossed  the  ashes  over 
the  side  of  the  boat.  He  gave  a  little  sigh,  and 
then  frowned  at  having  done  so.  "  I'll  tell  you 
what  you  can  do  for  me,  Holcombe,"  he  said, 
smiling.  "  Some  night  I  wish  you  would  go  down 
to  Fourteenth  Street,  some  night  this  spring,  when 


THE    EXILES  65 

the  boys  are  sitting  out  on  the  steps  in  front  of 
the  Hall,  and  just  take  a  drink  for  me  at  Ed  Lai- 
ly's  ;  just  for  luck.  Will  you?  That's  what  I'd 
like  to  do.  I  don't  know  nothing  better  than 
Fourteenth  Street  of  a  summer  evening,  with  all 
the  people  crowding  into  Pastor's  on  one  side  of 
the  Hall,  and  the  Third  Avenue  L  cars  running 
by  on  the  other.  That's  a  gay  sight ;  ain't  it  now  ? 
With  all  the  girls  coming  in  and  out  of  Theiss's, 
and  the  sidewalks  crowded.  One  of  them  warm 
nights  when  they  have  to  have  the  windows  open, 
and  you  can  hear  the  music  in  at  Pastor's,  and  the 
audience  clapping  their  hands.  That's  great,  isn't 
it  ?  Well,"  he  laughed  and  shook  his  head.  "  I'll 
be  back  there  some  day,  won't  I,"  he  said,  wist 
fully,  "  and  hear  it  for  myself." 

"  Carroll,"  said  Holcombe,  drawing  the  former 
to  one  side,  "  suppose  I  see  this  cabman  when  I 
reach  home,  and  get  him  to  withdraw  the  charge, 
or  agree  not  to  turn  up  when  it  comes  to  trial." 

Carroll's  face  clouded  in  an  instant.  "  Now, 
listen  to  me,  Holcombe,"  he  said.  "  You  let  my 
dirty  work  alone.  There's  lots  of  my  friends  who 
have  nothing  better  to  do  than  just  that.  You 
have  something  better  to  do,  and  you  leave  me 
and  my  rows  to  others.  I  like  you  for  what  you 
are,  and  not  for  what  you  can  do  for  me.  I  don't 
mean  that  I  don't  appreciate  your  offer,  but  it 
shouldn't  have  come  from  an  Assistant  District 
Attorney  to  a  fugitive  criminal." 

"  What  nonsense !  "  said  Holcombe. 


60  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

"  Don't  say  that ;  don't  say  that !"  said  Carroll, 
quickly,  as  though  it  hurt  him.  "  You  wouldn't 
have  said  it  a  month  aero." 

O 

Ilolcombe  eyed  the  other  with  an  alert,  confi 
dent  smile.  "No,  Carroll,"  he  answered,  "I  would 
not."  He  put  his  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder 
with  a  suggestion  in  his  manner  of  his  former 
self,  and  with  a  touch  of  patronage.  "I  have 
learned  a  great  deal  in  a  month,"  he  said.  "Seven 
battles  were  won  in  seven  days  once.  All  my  life 
I  have  been  fighting  causes,  Carroll,  and  princi 
ples.  I  have  been  working  with  laws  against  law 
breakers.  I  have  never  yet  fought  a  man.  It  was 
not  poor  old  Meakim,  the  individual,  I  prosecuted, 
but  the  corrupt  politician.  Now,  here  I  have  been 
thrown  with  men  and  women  on  as  equal  terms  as 
a  crew  of  sailors  cast  away  upon  a  desert  island. 
We  were  each  a  law  unto  himself.  And  I  have 
been  brought  face  to  face,  and  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life,  not  with  principles  of  conduct,  not  with 
causes,  and  not  with  laws,  but  with  my  fellow- 


THE  WRITING   ON  THE  WALL 

IMMEN  PASHA'S  dinner  was  given  to  Miss  Page, 
although  it  was  ostensibly  in  honor  of  the  British 
Minister,  whose  wife  sat  on  Immen's  right,  and 
tested  that  Oriental's  composed  politeness  great 
ly.  But  at  times  he  would  turn  to  Miss  Page, 
and  she  would  murmur  with  him  in  French,  and 
he  would  have  his  reward.  The  condition  upon 
which  Miss  Page  had  come  to  the  dinner  was  that 
it  should  be  an  Oriental  one  through  out,  and  so  the 
table  was  accordingly  of  silver,  and  each  strange, 
sticky  course  was  served  in  a  golden  bowl,  and 
each  fork  and  spoon  bore  a  ruby  and  a  diamond 
in  its  handle. 

"  Diamonds  and  rubies  are  my  jewels,"  Immen 
explained  simply,  as  one  would  say,  "Blue  and 
yellow  are  my  racing  colors,"  or  that  such  a  sen 
tence  was  the  motto  of  his  family. 

A  native  orchestra  played  from  a  balcony  of 
heavily  carved  wood  that  stretched  across  one 
end  of  the  room,  and  behind  a  lattice  beneath  it 
shone  the  bright  eyes  of  Immen's  wife,  who  was 
politely  supposed  to  have  already  departed  for 
Alexandria,  but  who  in  reality  was  looking  with 
wonder  and  misgivings  upon  the  bold  women, 


68  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

with  naked  faces  and  shoulders,  who  sat  at  her 
husband's  side,  and  talked  to  hirn  without  wait 
ing  for  him  to  give  them  leave. 

Miss  Page  and  her  family  had  been  spending 
the  winter  in  Qairo4  and  were  to  leave  in  the 
week.  The  hot  weather,  or  what  passes  for  hot 
weather  in  Cairo,  had  arrived,  and  the  last  of 
Cook's  dahabeahs  was  hurrying  back  down  the 
Nile,  and  a  few  of  the  court  had  already  gone 
to  Alexandria,  and  in  two  weeks  the  Khedive 
would  follow.  It  had  been  a  delightful  winter, 
and  Helen  Page  had  enjoyed  it  in  what  was  to 
her  a  new  way.  She  had  reached  that  stage  when 
everything  in  life  has  found  its  true  value.  There 
was  for  her  no  more  marking  up  or  marking  down. 
If  it  would  not  sell  for  that  it  should  not  leave 
her,  or  if  it  cost  so  much  it  was  not  worth  seek 
ing  after,  and  she  let  it  go.  She  still  enjoyed 
dances  and  functions  ;  but  the  dances  had  to  be 
very  well  done,  and  the  functions  had  to  come  in 
the  natural  order  of  things.  She  knew  what 
bored  her  and  what  amused  her,  and  she  knew 
the  worth  of  a  cabinet  minister's  conversation  and 
the  value  of  a  few  words  from  royalty,  and  of  a 
day  with  her  brother  hunting  for  bargains  in  the 
bazaars.  She  had  arrived. 

She  left  the  officers  of  the  Army  of  Occupation 
to  her  sister,  who  was  just  out,  and  of  that  age 
when  the  man  who  leads  the  cotillon  was  of  much 
more  immediate  importance  than  the  gentleman 
with  the  star  on  his  coat,  who  could  tell  her  sis- 


THE    WRITING    ON    THE    WALL  69 

ter  when  the  Italians  would  move  over  the  Alps, 
or  the  tall  senators  in  Washington  who  related 
such  amusing  stories  and  who  told  things  to 
Helen  of  such  importance  that  she  would  sit  with 
her  eyes  cast  down  so  that  people  might  not  see 
how  interested  she  was.  That  might  be  worth 
while  to  Helen,  but  to  her  sister  the  young  Eng 
lish  officers  on  polo  ponies  and  the  rides  to  the 
ostrich  farm  and  golf  at  the  base  of  the  pyramids 
were  much  more  entertaining.  So  it  happened 
occasionally  when  Helen  and  her  good-looking 
brother  were  treasure-hunting  on  the  Mouski  that 
they  would  have  to  jump  out  of  the  way  of  a  yell 
ing  outrunner  in  black  and  gold  and  see  their 
sister  roll  by  seated  high  in  a  cart  with  an  Ara 
bian  pony  in  the  shafts  and  an  English  subaltern 
at  her  side. 

Once  when  this  happened  her  brother  looked 
after  the  cart  with  a  smile,  and  said,  indulgently 
and  with  that  tolerance  for  youth  which  only  a 
Harvard  Junior  can  feel : 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  be  as  young  as  that, 
Helen  ?" 

His  sister  exclaimed,  indignantly:  "  Well,  upon 
rny  word !  And  how  old  do  you  suppose  I 
am?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  the  brother  answered,  una 
bashed.  "  The  last  time*  I  asked  you,  you  were 
nineteen.  That  was  years  ago." 

"  Only  four  years.  Does  that  make  me  so  very 
old?" 


70  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

"  But  you've  seen  such  a  lot,  and  you've  been 
around  so  much  and  all  that,"  he  argued.  "  That's 
what  makes  people  old.  Helen,  don't  you  ever 
intend  to  get  married  ?" 

"  Never,"  said  the  sister.  "I  am  going  to  live 
with  you,  and  keep  you  from  falling  in  love  with 
a  nicer  girl  than  myself,  and  we  will  promise  each 
other  never  to  marry,  but  just  to  go  about  like 
this  always,  and  explore  places  and  have  advent 
ures." 

Young  Page  laughed  indulgently.  "  Very 
well,"  he  said.  He  had  had  hopes  at  one  time 
that  his  sister  would  take  a  fancy  to  his  room 
mate,  who  played  next  to  him  on  the  foot-ball 
eleven  ;  but  that  gentleman  had  never  really  ap 
preciated  her,  although  he  had  once  said  that  her 
photograph  was  the  finest  thing  he  had  ever  seen. 

He  used  to  stand  in  front  of  it  when  he  was  filling 
I 

his  pipe  and  survey  it  critically,  with  his  head  on 
one  side,  and  Page  had  considered  this  a  very  good 
sign.  It  was  after  this  that  the  announcement  in 
the  papers  of  his  sister's  engagement  to  a  young 
English  duke  had  made  her  brother  wonder  if  that 
perhaps  would  not  be  even  a  better  thing  for  him, 
as  it  would  give  him  such  grand  opportunities  for 
shooting  over  his  brother-in-law's  preserves.  And 
from  that  time  on  he  rather  discouraged  his  room 
mate  in  cherishing  secret  hopes. 

He  had  not  heard  of  the  young  Englishman 
lately,  so  he  inquired,  jocosely  and  with  what  he 
considered  rare  discretion  and  subtlety :  "  If  you 


THE    WRITING    ON    THE    WALL  71 

were  to  marry  a  duke,  Helen,  should  I  still  call 
you  just  plain  Helen,  or  would  you  make  me  say 
'  Your  Grace,'  as  the  servants  do  ?" 

Helen  stopped,  ankle-deep  in  the  mud  of  the  ba 
zaars,  and  surveyed  him  with  such  evident  amuse 
ment  that  he  laughed  in  some  embarrassment. 
"You  could  never  truthfully  call  me  'plain  Helen,' 
Ted,"  she  said,  "  and  you  will  never  have  the 
chance  to  call  me  the  other  thing." 

"Oh!"  said  her  brother,  meekly,  "that's  how 
it  is,  is  it?" 

"  Yes,  that's  how  it  is,"  his  sister  echoed  him. 

The  man  who  sat  on  Miss  Page's  left  at  Immen 
Pasha's  dinner  was  Prince  Panine,  the  Russian 
First  Secretary.  He  had  known  Miss  Page  in 
Washington  when  he  was  an  attache  of  the  Rus 
sian  legation  there,  and  had  been  bold  enough  to 
ask  her  to  marry  him.  When  she  declined  to  do 
so,  he  took  it  hardly,  and1  said  unpleasant  things 
about  her,  which,  in  time,  came  back  to  her.  She 
bore  him  no  ill-will  for  this;  but  he  did  not  ap 
peal  to  her  as  a  delightful  dinner  companion. 
It  was  different  with  the  Russian,  for  it  was  his 
pride  that  had  been  hurt  by  her  refusal  rather 
than  his  heart,  and  he  thought  this  the  sweet 
moment  of  his  revenge.  He  now  could  show 
the  woman  who  had  refused  him  when  he  was 
an  insignificant  attache  that  it  was  the  prospec 
tive  head  of  a  powerful  and  noble  Russian  fam 
ily  and  a  possible  ambassador  that  she  had  over 
looked. 


72  THE    EXILES,    AND    OTHER    STORIES 

He  felt  the  value  of  the  situation  keenly.  It 
inspired  him  as  a  good  part  inspires  the  actor, 
and  he  smiled  at  his  own  thoughts,  and  twisted 
his  pointed  beard,  and  bridled  and  bowed  his 
head  like  a  pretty  woman.  Miss  Page  at  first 
did  not  notice  him  at  all.  She  was  intent  on 
what  Immen  was  telling  her  of  some  extrava 
gance  of  Ismail  Pasha's,  in  whose  cabinet  he  had 
served  ;  but  when  he  had  ceased,  and  turned  with 
a  sigh  to  the  English  matron,  Miss  Page  moved 
in  her  chair,  and  surveyed  Panine  with  smiling 
good-nature. 

"  It  is  very  nice  to  see  you  again,"  she  said, 
comfortably  ;  "  but  they  tell  me,  Prince,  that  you 
are  such  a  dangerous  personage  now.  I  am  really 
rather  afraid  of  you." 

The  Russian  bowed  his  head  and  smiled  grim 
ly.  "You  did  not  find  me  dangerous  once,"  he 
said. 

But  she  looked  past  him,  and  continued  as 
though  he  had  not  spoken.  "  I  never  thought  you 
would  take  the  service  so  seriously,"  she  went  on. 
"  Why,  you  will  be  a  minister  very  soon  now, 
shall  you  not  ?" 

Panine  looked  at  her  sternly,  as  though  he  was 
in  doubt  as  to  her  being  serious.  "  Some  one  has 
told  you?"  he  asked,  frowning. 

"  No,"  she  said,  lightly.  "  But  it  is  about  time, 
is  it  not?  What  were  you  in  Washington?  Sec 
ond  Secretary,  I  think?" 

"  It  is  not  a  matter  of  years,"  the  Russian  an- 


THE   WRITING    ON   THE   WALL  73 

swered,  stiffly — "  at  least,  it  is  not  so  with  some 
men.  It  is  true  I  am  still  a  secretary,  but  our 
chief  has  been  away,  and  —  what  is  it  that  you 
have  for  a  proverb — '  when  the  cat's  away  the 
mice' — eh?"  He  lifted  his  eyebrows,  and  then 
glanced  quickly  up  and  down  the  length  of  the 
table,  as  though  to  give  her  the  impression  that 
he  was  fearful  of  having  been  overheard.  Miss 
Page  did  not  apparently  notice  this  by-play.  She 
laughed,  and  then  interrupted  herself  to  listen  to 
something  that  was  being  said  across  the  table 
before  she  answered  him. 

"So,"  she  said,  "you  have  been  plotting  and 
conspiring  again,  have  you,  arid  we  are  to  have  a 
crisis?  You  are  all  just  alike."  She  laughed  in 
dulgently.  "It  is  so  absurd,"  she  said. 

Panine's  frown  was  quite  genuine  now.  "Ah, 
so,"  he  said,  with  mocking  politeness,  "you  think 
it  absurd?  Yes,"  he  added,  "  you  are  quite  right. 
It  is  nothing,  just  a  game,  and,  as  you  say,  quite 
absurd — quite  absurd.  You  relieve  me,"  he  added. 
"I  had  feared  perhaps  you  had  learned  some 
thing.  Even  the  most  experienced  in  our  service 
is  sometimes  indiscreet,  when  it  is  a  beautiful 
woman  to  whom  he  talks." 

Her  eyes  closed  for  an  instant,  which  was  a 
trick  they  had  when  she  was  annoyed  or  bored, 
and  she  turned  to  Immen  with  a  smile.  The  Rus 
sian  sipped  deeply  from  his  glass  and  scowled. 
He  felt  that  he  was  not  making  that  sort  of  an 
impression  which  the  situation  should  have  called 


74  THE  EXILES,  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

forth.  The  girl  did  not  yet  seem  to  appreciate 
what  she  had  given  up. 

Miss  Page  turned  to  him  again.  "  We  are  to 
have  a  most  amusing  evening,"  she  said;  "did  you 
know  ?  Immen  is  going  to  have  Bannerman  in  to 
do  his  tricks  for  us." 

"  The  mind-reader  ?" 

"  Yes.     Have  you  ever  seen  him  ?" 

Panine  answered,  in  the  tone  of  one  who  is 
tolerant  of  the  amusements  of  others,  that  he 
had  seen  the  fellow  once  when  he  had  performed 
before  the  King  of  Greece.  "  He  made  us  all 
look  rather  ridiculous  and  undignified,"  he  said. 
"I  do  not  think  that  I  like  the  court  jester  of 
modern  times." 

"You  must  be  very  careful,"  Miss  Page  laughed, 
"  or  he  will  read  all  of  your  secrets,  and  then  we 
will  know  what  mischief  you  have  been — 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  !"  interrupted  the  Russian, 
quickly.  He  gave  her  a  warning  glance.  "  They 
will  hear  you,"  he  explained. 

The  girl  tossed  her  head  with  a  shrug  of  impa 
tience.  "Quelle  pose  !"  she  said.  "Why  are  you 
not  amusing,  as  you  used  to  be?  Are  you  always 
mysterious  now?  And  when  are  you  Russians  go 
ing  to  embrace  France,  and  how  soon  will  your 
fleet  be  in  the  Bosporus,  and  do  you  still  draw 
little  maps  of  Constantinople  on  the  backs  of 
your  visiting-cards  ?  Oh,  it  is  such  an  old,  old 
story." 

"Just   as   you   say,"  replied    Panine,  without 


THE    WRITING    ON    THE    WALL  75 

showing  any  sense  of  injury.  "It  is  an  old  story; 
it  is  like  the  shepherd-boy  who  kept  calling  that 
the  wolf  was  coming,  is  it  not  ?" 

"Exactly,"  consented  the  girl,  "except  that  the 
Russian  specimen  of  wolf  never  comes." 

Panine  smiled  and  nodded  his  head.  "  Do  you 
know  something,  Miss  Page?"  he  said.  "You 
should  have  been  in  a  secret  service.  You  should 
have  been  a  diplomat." 

"  I  don't  think  I  like  that,"  said  the  girl,  slow 
ly,  "  though  you  probably  meant  that  I  should. 
Why?" 

"Because  the  methods  you  adopt  in  finding  out 
what  you  wish  to  know  are  the  ones  which  will 
make  you  sure  to  learn.  Make  little  of  another's 
secret,  Miss  Page,  or  of  another's  knowledge,  and 
he  is  sure  to  tell  you  what  he  knows,  because  he 
is  piqued  and  wishes  to  show  you  how  important 
it  is  or  how  important  he  is." 

"My  dear  Prince,"  said  the  girl,  patiently, 
"  I  have  not  the  least  desire  to  know  your  se 
crets.  I  have  no  'methods.'  I  am  quite  inno 
cent  of  trying  to  find  out  anything.  You  do 
yourself  entirely  too  much  honor.  Even  if 
you  had  a  secret,  it  would  make  me  most  un 
comfortable  if  I  thought  you  had  it  about  you, 
and  especially  if  I  imagined  you  intended  to  let 
it  escape." 

"You  treat  me  this  way,"  said  the  Russian, 
quickly,  and  lowering  his  voice,  "  because  you 
still  even  now  look  at  me  as  a  boy.  You  think 


76  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

that  I  have  been  doing  nothing  these  five  years; 
that  I  am  still  copying  despatches  and  translat 
ing  reports.  But  that  is  past.  I  send  despatches 
myself  now,  and  in  a  short  time  my  government 
and  every  government  will  know  that  I  have  not 
been  idle.  What  I  am  doing  now  will  be  the  talk 
of  the  whole  diplomatic  world." 

The  man  leaned  forward  and  poured  out  his 
words  in  a  low  and  intense  whisper.  He  was 
mortified,  and  his  pride  cut  to  the  heart  at  the 
coldness  of  the  woman  beside  him.  Had  she 
begged  for  his  confidence  he  could  have  with 
held  it  easily,  as  his  caution  would  have  taken 
alarm  at  her  entreaties  ;  but  her  silent  indiffer 
ence  to  him  and  to  what  he  knew  was  of  mo 
mentous  importance  piqued  and  unnerved  him. 
He  was  sure  she  was  discreet  ;  it  was  the  one 
quality  that  every  man  and  woman  unhesitating 
ly  allowed  to  her ;-  arid  more  than  that,  she  was 
very  beautiful.  A  man  will  tell  a  discreet  wom 
an  a  great  deal,  and  when  she  has  added  to  this 
virtue  great  beauty,  he  is  liable  to  tell  her  every 
thing,  unless  she  stops  him. 

"  There  are  those  here  at  this  table,"  continued 
Panine,  with  his  eyes  bent  on  his  plate,  "  who  are 
in  danger.  In  a  week,  in  a  day,  the  crisis  at 
which  you  laugh  will  come,  and  some  of  those 
who  are  here  to-night  will  not  dine  with  us 
again." 

Miss  Page  considered  that  it  was  now  quite 
time  for  him  to  stop.  "I  had  no  idea  you  were 


THE    WRITING    ON    THE    WALL  77 

serious,"  she  said,  haughtily.  "  Who  gave  you 
the  right  to  confide  in  me?" 

She  turned  for  relief  to  Immen,  but  he  was 
deep  in  conversation  with  his  neighbor,  so  she 
became  silent,  and  interested  herself  in  the  dish 
before  her.  "Do  you  know  what  this  is?"  she 
asked  Panine,  in  a  lighter  tone.  "  I  have  been 
studying  very  hard  since  I  have  been  here,  but  I 
never  seem  to  learn  the  names  of  anything  use 
ful." 

Panine  was  biting  at  his  finger-nail.  He  had 
worked  himself  up  into  a  fever  of  excitement. 
For  months  his  thoughts  had  been  on  one  theme, 
and  in  working  out  what  was  to  be  for  him  a 
great  coup,  which  was  to  place  him  at  the  head 
of  a  legation  and  cover  his  coat  with  French  and 
Russian  orders.  He  could  think  of  nothing  else, 
and  he  could  not  now  contain  himself. 

"You  know  the  situation  here,"  he  went  on, 
anxiously,  as  though  she  had  not  previously 
checked  him.  "  It  is  three  to  one,  if  you  went 
less  with  your  English  friends,  and  saw  more 
of  us,  you  would  feel  less  confident,  you  would 
have  less  of  their  arrogance  and  intolerance  of 
the  enemy.  It  is  not  wise  to  despise  an  enemy. 
What  would  you  think  if  the  Dual  Control, 
which  is  not  a  Dual  Control,  should  be  revived, 
but  with  this  important  difference,  that  it  shall 
be  France  and  Russia,  and  not  France  and  Eng 
land,  who  are  to  guide  the  future  of  these  Egyp 
tians  ?" 


78  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

Miss  Page  glanced  with  a  smile  down  the  table 
to  where  the  English  Consul-General  sat,  large, 
broad-shouldered,  and  aggressive  -  looking  even 
over  his  sweetmeats.  He  caught  her  eye,  and 
smiled  pleasantly. 

"  That  is  not  a  very  thrilling  idea,"  she  said. 
"  It  seems  to  me  it  has  been  in  the  air  for  some 
time.  Not  that  I  follow  politics  at  all,"  she  add 
ed,  quickly,  "  but  every  one  knows  that ;  it  is  cer 
tainly  not  new." 

"The  idea, no;  but  the  carrying  out  of  it,  yes," 
said  the  Russian.  He  leaned  forward  and  tow 
ards  her  quickly,  and  before  she  could  draw  her 
head  away  had  whispered  to  her  a  few  words  in 
English,  which  was  the  safest  tongue  he  could 
have  used  in  that  company.  Then  he  drew  back, 
his  eyes  brilliant  with  triumph  and  excitement, 
and  noted  the  effect  of  his  words. 

The  girl's  face  had  paled,  and  her  eyes  were 
wide  open,  as  though  she  had  seen  something 
that  shocked  her,  and  she  even  made  a  move 
ment  as  though  she  would  push  back  her  chair 
and  leave  the  table.  But  as  the  color  came  to 
her  cheeks  her  self-possession  returned  to  her, 
and  she  bent  her  body  forward  and  said  across 
the  table  to  one  of  the  English  women  oppo 
site: 

"I  hear  you  are  going  to  sail  with  us  next 
week.  That  will  be  very  nice.  I  hope  it  will  be 
smooth  between  here  and  Brindisi." 

Panine  exclaimed  under  his  breath,  and  whig- 


THE    WRITING    ON   THE    WALL  70 

pered  something  between  his  fingers  as  he  twist 
ed  them  in  his  pointed  beard. 

There  were  many  people  at  the  reception  which 
followed  the  dinner;  wise-looking  judges  of  the 
Mixed  Courts  and  their  wives  and  native  princes, 
secretaries  of  the  many  diplomatic  agencies,  and 
an  abundance  of  scarlet  mess  jackets  on  officers 
of  the  Army  of  Occupation.  They  outshone  even 
the  women  in  the  brilliancy  of  their  apparel,  with 
their  broad  bands  of  gold  braid  and  rows  of  tiny 
brass  buttons.  They  outshone  the  men,  too,  in 
the  ruddy  tan  of  their  faces,  burned  by  the  sun 
of  the  Soudan  and  roughened  by  the  fine  sand  of 
the  desert. 

They  were  a  handsome,  arrogant-looking  group; 
some  with  the  fez,  which  seemed  strangely  out  of 
place  on  their  yellow  hair,  and  which  showed  that 
they  served  the  Khedive,  and  others  with  strips 
of  tiny  ribbons  across  their  breasts  to  show  that 
they  had  served  the  Queen,  and  each  of  these 
Englishmen  moved  about  with  the  uneasy,  self- 
assertive  air  of  one  who  knows  that  he  is  wel 
comed  through  necessity,  and  only  because  he 
holds  his  place  in  the  society  about  him  by  force 
of  arms. 

Bannerman,  the  English  mind -reader,  busied 
himself  in  selecting  a  committee,  and  the  others 
seated  themselves  on  the  divans  around  the  room 
and  discussed  the  self-possessed  young  woman 
with  the  yellow -dyed  hair  who  served  as  the 


80  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES  - 

mind-reader's  assistant,  and  to  whom  he  referred 
as  "my  ward."  They  all  agreed  that  he  was  cer 
tainly  very  clever,  and  as  an  entertainer  a  decided 
relief  after  the  amateur  musicians  of  doubtful 
talent  who  had  been  forced  upon  them  at  other 
houses. 

Banrierman  showed  how  some  one  else  had 
stabbed  the  Austrian  Minister  in  the  back  with 
a  paper-knife,  after  first  having  discovered  it  hid 
den  in  a  pot  of  palms  in  the  garden.  And  his  as 
sistant,  at  his  command,  described  rings  and  coins 
and  pocket-pieces  held  up  before  her  blindfolded 
eyes.  Then  Bannerman  read  the  numbers  on  an 
English  bank-note,  chalking  them  out  on  a  black 
board,  and  rearranged  groups  and  tableaux  which 
had  been  previously  stage-managed  and  separated 
during  his  absence'  from  the  room.  He  was  ex 
tremely  easy  and  clever,  and  smiled  an  offensive 
ly  humble  smile  as  each  exhibition  was  rewarded 
by  enthusiastic  approbation.  Nothing  quite  so 
out  of  the  common  had  been  given  them  during 
the  season.  Magicians  they  had  in  plenty;  they 
could  be  found  on  the  terrace  of  Shepheard's  any 
afternoon,  but  there  was  something  almost  un 
canny  in  the  successes  of  this  English  adventurer, 
which  was  slightly  spoiled  by  his  self-assurance, 
by  the  rows  of  medals  on  his  coat,  and  the  bar 
barous  jewels  on  his  short,  fat  fingers. 

Hoffmeyer  Bey,  a  German  in  the  Egyptian  ser 
vice,  took  it  very  seriously. 

"I  should  like  to  ask  you,  sir,"  he  demanded, 


THE    WETTING    ON   THE    WALL  81 

as  though  the  mind  -  reader  were  on  trial,  and 
gazing  at  him  grimly  through  round  spectacles, 
"  whether  you  claim  to  will  the  young  lady  to 
say  what  these  articles  are  which  you  hold  up,  or 
whether  you  claim  to  communicate  with  her  by 
thought-transference." 

Some  of  the  subalterns  nudged  each  other  and 
grinned  at  this.  They  did  not  know  how  the 
trick  was  done,  but  they  did  know  that  it  was  a 
trick.  You  could  not  impose  on  them. 

"  I  should  answer  that,  sir,  in  this  way,"  said 
the  showman,  glibly:  "I  should  say  that  it  is  an 
exhibition  of  both  will-power  and  of  thought-trans 
ference.  You  observe,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  that 
I  do  not  even  approach  my  assistant,  so  that  it  is 
not  muscle-reading  I  depend  upon,  which  is  a  very 
different  thing  from  mind-reading,  and  which  ne 
cessitates  actual  contact.  I  see  whatever  it  is 
that  you  wish  described.  My  mind  is  working 
in  sympathy  with  my  ward's,  and  I  will  her  to 
tell  of  what  I  am  thinking.  If  I  did  not  keep 
my  mind  on  the  object,  she  could  give  no  descrip 
tion  of  it  whatsoever." 

Colonel  Royce  raised  his  finger.  "Eh — could 
she  give  a  description  of  it  if  you  merely  thought 
of  it,  but  didn't  say  anything  ?"  he  demanded. 

Miss  Page,  who  was  sitting  at  Immen's  side 
in  a  far  corner,  smiled  and  shrugged  her  shoul 
ders. 

"  Why  don't  they  let  the  poor  man  alone  ?"  she 
said.  "  It  is  a  very  good  trick,  and  is  all  the  more 


82  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

amusing  because  we  think  it  is  not  a  trick.  Why 
insist  on  seeing  the  wheels  go  round?" 

"  Oh,  he  will  explain,"  said  the  old  Pasha,  smil 
ing.  "  C'est  son  metier.  He  has  been  asked  these 
same  questions  before.  He  is  quite  prepared  for 
them,  and  in  a  contest  of  argument  I  imagine  the 
fakir  would  be  more  than  a  match  for  our  mili 
tary  friend.  The  colonel,  they  tell  me,  is  more 
at  home  in  a  saddle  than  in  a  salon." 

"  The  best  test  I  could  possibly  submit  to  you," 
said  Bannerman,  "  and  one  which  would  show  you 
that  there  is  no  collusion  between  myself  and  my 
assistant,  is  one  that  I  call  'The  writing  on  the 
wall.'  I  will  take  any  one  you  please  to  select  as 
my  subject,  and  make  him  or  her  write  a  sentence 
on  this  blackboard  in  a  language  which  he  or  she 
does  not  understand.  I  will  not  dictate  what  the 
subject  writes.  I  simply  claim  to  be  able  to  make 
him  write  it  in  a  language  which  he  does  not  know. 
If  I  can  do  this,  you  must  admit  that  I  have  the 
power  to  will  another  to  read  what  is  in  my  mind, 
just  as  I  am  able  to  read  what  is  in  his  mind.  I 
think  that  is  the  just  conclusion.  I  act  in  the 
test  simply  as  a  translator.  The  subject  thinks 
of  a  sentence  or  phrase,  and  I  translate  it  in  my 
own  mind,  and  force  him  by  will-power  alone  to 
write  it  in  a  language  with  which  he  is  absolutely 
unfamiliar.  All  I  ask  is  that  I  may  be  allowed  to 
blindfold  whoever  assists  me  in  this,  in  order  that 
he  may  not  have  his  attention  distracted,  and  to 
be  allowed  to  hold  his  hand." 


THE    WRITING    ON    THE    WALL 

"Will  you  please  say  that  all  over  again?" 
commanded  Colonel  Royce. 

Bannerman  explained  his  test  once  more,  and 
there  was  a  general  murmur  of  incredulity  and 
of  whispered  persiflage  on  the  part  of  the  subal 
terns. 

"  If  he  can  make  you  write  three  words  in  cor 
rect  French,  Ted,"  said  his  younger  sister,  "  I'll 
believe  he's  a  spook." 

The  English  Minister  turned  to  his  American 
confrere  with  a  smile.  "  That  sounds  rather  h> 
teresting,"  he  said.  "  How  will  he  do  it  ?" 

The  American  was  sitting  with  his  lips  puck 
ered  and  with  his  eyes  half  closed.  "I  was  just 
trying  to  think,"  he  said,  doubtfully.  "  Of  course 
it  is  a  trick.  I  don't  believe  in  thought  transfer 
ence  myself.  He  either  moves  his  assistant's  hand, 
and  makes  him  think  that  he  is  doing  it  himself 
when  he  is  not,  or  the  assistant  does  what  the 
little  boy  did.  There  is  no  other  way." 

"What  did  the  little  boy  do?  Is  that  an 
American  story  ?"  said  the  Englishman,  smiling. 

"  Oh,  the  little  boy  lied,"  explained  the  Consul- 
General. 

Bannerman  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room, 
weighing  a  broad  silk  scarf  in  his  hands.  "  There 
is  too  much  light  for  my  purpose,"  he  said;  "it 
prevents  my  concentrating  my  thoughts.  Would 
you  mind  having  two  or  three  of  those  lamps  placed 
outside,  if  you  please  ?  Thank  you." 

The  lamps  were  carried  out,  and  the  room  was 


84  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

now  left  in  an  appropriate  half-light,  which  came 
mysteriously  from  under  red  globes.  There  was 
an  interested  silence. 

Bannerman  stood  weighing  the  handkerchief  in 
the  palms  of  his  hands  and  glancing  slowly  around 
the  surrounding  rows  of  faces.  His  eyes  rested 
finally  on  the  farther  corner,  where  Helen  Page 
sat  in  an  alcove  with  the  English  woman  who 
was  to  sail  with  her  the  week  following.  They 
were  whispering  together  busily,  and  Immen  Pa 
sha  had  turned  his  shoulder  to  them  so  that  they 
might  speak  the  more  freely.  Bannerman  walked 
directly  towards  them  without  speaking  or  mak 
ing  any  sound,  but  as  he  came  forward  Miss  Page 
turned  her  head  sharply,  and  looked  at  him  in 
quiringly  as  though  he  had  already  addressed  her. 
He  stood  immediately  before  her  and  bowed. 

"  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  assist  me  in  this  ?" 
he  asked.  He  bowed  again,  smiling  as  he  did  so, 
with  so  assured  an  air  that  Immen  rose  and  placed 
himself  between  them. 

"No,"  he  answered  for  her.  "You  must  ask 
some  one  else." 

"I  should  be  very  much  gratified  if  this  young 
lady  would  assist  me,"  said  the  adventurer,  ear 
nestly,  but  in  so  low  a  tone  that  those  at  the  other 
end  of  the  room  could  hear  nothing.  "  I  am  quite 
confident  I  could  succeed  with  her.  It  is  a  most 
difficult  experiment." 

Miss  Page  shook  her  head  slightly.  "Thank 
you,  no,"  she  said. 


THE    WRITING    ON   THE    WALL  85 

She  turned  to  her  friend  and  began  speaking 
with  her  again  as  though  nothing  had  interrupted 
them.  The  mind-reader  made  no  second  effort  to 
address  her,  neither  did  he  move  away,  but  stood 
perfectly  still,  looking  at  her  curiously  and  fixed 
ly.  The  girl  stopped  as  though  some  one  had 
touched  her  to  attract  her  attention,  and,  looking 
up,  met  the  eyes  of  the  mind-reader  fixed  upon 
hers.  The  man  took  courage  from  the  silence  in 
the  room,  which  showed  him  that  his  choice  had 
been  a  popular  one,  and  that  the  girl  whose  money 
arid  beauty  and  brains  had  in  their  different  fash 
ion  interested  different  people  was  a  personage  of 
whom  they  wished  to  see  more  in  a  new  part.  Even 
Immen  himself  stood  aside  now  ;  he,  too,  was  curi 
ous  to  see  how  she  would  acquit  herself. 

"  Come,"  said  the  man,  in  a  low  tone.  The  girl 
stared  at  him  in  surprise  and  drew  back. 

She  turned  to  Immen.  "  What  does  he  want 
with  me  ?"  she  said. 

"  It  is  nothing,  madam,"  answered  Bannerman, 
quickly,  before  the  older  man  could  speak  to  her  ; 
"  merely  to  write  a  sentence  on  the  blackboard. 
Anything  that  comes  into  your  head,  and  I  shall 
will  you  to  write  it  in  any  language  I  please." 

The  girl's  face  wore  a  troubled,  puzzled  look, 
and  instead  of  turning  her  eyes  away,  she  contin 
ued  staring  at  the  man  as  though  she  were  trying 
to  recollect  whether  she  had  ever  seen  him  before. 

He  drew  away  from  her  slowly,  and  with  his 
eyes  still  fixed  on  hers.  "  You  will  assist  me,"  he 


86  THE  EXILES,  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

said.     And  this  time  it  was  not  in  a  tone  of  in 
quiry  that  he  spoke,  but  of  command. 

The  girl  rose  suddenly,  and  stood  uncertainly, 
looking  around  the  room  as  though  to  test  its  feel 
ing  towards  her.  She  saw  the  English  Minister 
(as  that  Consul-General  was  called  by  courtesy) 
smiling  at  her  encouragingly,  she  saw  Panine  in  a 
doorway,  posed  against  the  red  curtains,  scowling 
to  himself,  and  she  saw  her  brother  and  sister, 
surrounded  by  a  full  staff  of  scarlet  jackets,  en 
joying  her  discomfiture.  She  took  a  step  back  as 
though  to  resume  her  place  in  the  alcove,  but  the 
mind-reader  put  out  his  hand,  and  she,  to  the  sur 
prise  of  all,  took  it,  staring  at  him  as  she  did  so, 
as  though  to  read  in  his  face  how  he  had  been  able 
to  make  her  give  it  to  him. 

"  You  understand  French,  of  course,"  the  man 
said,  in  a  low  tone,  but  the  room  was  so  still  now 
that  every  one  could  hear.  The  girl  nodded, 
without  taking  her  eyes  from  his.  "  And  Italian 
—yes  ;  and  German — yes ;  and  a  little  Spanish — 
perhaps — yes — no  ?  Is  that  all  ?"  The  girl  nodded 
again. 

"  Very  good.     You  shall  write  in  Arabic." 

The  Egyptians  and  the  English  looked  at  each 
other  and  smiled,  but  the  tone  of  the  man  was  so 
full  of  confidence  that  their  faces  filled  again  with 
intent  interest.  Carefully  and  deftly  Bannerman 
drew  the  silk  scarf  across  the  girl's  forehead,  but 
she  raised  her  hands  and  unwound  it  and  dropped 
it  on  the  floor. 


THE    WRITING    ON    THE    WALL  8? 

"I  will  not  be  blindfolded,"  she  said.  "I  can 
keep  my  eyes  closed  without  it." 

"Humph  !"  commented  a  subaltern.  He  made 
a  grimace  as  though  he  had  tasted  something  un 
pleasant. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  asked  the  next  man.  "  Did  you 
see  a  ghost  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  an  enlisted  man  we  shot  in  Burmah. 
He  did  the  same  thing.  It  reminded  me  of  it." 

"  She  does  take  it  rather  seriously,"  whispered 
the  other. 

The  blackboard  hung  like  a  curtain  at  one  end 
of  the  room.  There  was  no  light  near  it,  and  it 
formed  a  black  background  against  which  Helen 
Page's  figure  and  head  stood  out  distinctly.  She 
was  a  very  beautiful  woman,  with  great  masses 
of  black  hair,  which  she  wore  back  from  her  fore 
head.  Her  face  was  lovely  rather  than  classic,  and 
typically  American  in  its  frank  confidence  of  her 
own  innocence  and  of  others  towards  her,  and  in 
its  cleverness.  She  wore  a  gown  of  black  satin, 
covered  with  tiny  glittering  spangles,  that  fitted 
her  figure  closely,  leaving  her  arms  and  shoulders 
bare.  It  was  a  most  unusual  gown,  and  strongly 
suggestive  of  things  theatrical,  like  a  Columbine 
in  mourning,  or  the  wicked  fairy  who  rises  through 
a  trap  in  the  pantomime.  On  another  woman  it 
would  have  been  bold,  but  on  her  it  only  made  the 
face  above  it  appear  more  lovely  and  innocent  by 
contrast.  It  was  as  incongruous  as  a  girl's  face 
in  a  suit  of  armor. 


But  the  costume  fitted  the  moment  with  pecul 
iar  appropriateness,  and  as  the  girl  raised  her  bare 
arm  to  write,  she  looked  like  a  blind  prophetess 
or  a  beautiful  witch,  who  might  transform  them 
all  into  four-footed  animals.  She  appeared  so  well 
standing  in  outline  against  the  background,  with 
the  lights  playing  over  the  spangles,  that  both  the 
men  and  the  women  present  were  more  intent 
upon  her  than  upon  what  she  was  about  to  do. 
Bannerman  congratulated  himself  on  his  good  fort 
une.  He  was  enough  of  a  showman  to  feel  the 
effect  she  had  produced,  and,  like  a  clever  stage- 
manager,  left  to  her  the  centre  of  the  stage,  while 
he  kept  his  own  person  in  the  background  of  the 
picture. 

"  Are  you  ready  ?"  he  asked. 

The  girl's  left  arm  hung  straight  at  her  side, 
with  the  palm  turned  out,  so  that  the  tips  of  her 
fingers  touched  those  of  the  mind -reader  as  he 
stood  with  bowed  head  behind  her.  Miss  Page 
moved  her  right  hand  slightly  in  assent. 

And  then,  as  though  some  subtle  contact  had 
been  established  between  them  by  which  the  two 
individual  minds  moved  in  common,  her  right  arm 
raised  itself,  and  she  began  to  grope  across  the 
board  with  a  piece  of  chalk  as  though  to  find  the 
starting-point.  Her  hand  stopped  high  above  her 
head,  and  the  chalk  scratched  on  the  board  and 
left  behind  it  a  queer  jumble  of  Arabic  figures. 
The  arm  rested  in  mid-air,  and  the  girl's  face,  with 
her  eyes  still  closed,  bowed  itself,  as  though  she 


THE    WKITING    ON    THE    WALL  83 

were  listening  and  waiting  for  further  instruc 
tion. 

Bannerman  glanced  past  her  to  the  writing  on 
the  board.  He  turned  his  face  to  the  audience, 
without  losing  his  hold  on  the  girl's  finger-tips, 
and  translated  aloud,  "  His  Excellency — "  There 
were  many  present  entitled  to  that  prefix,  and 
several  who  had  already  recognized  it  as  it  was 
written  out  before  them.  There  was  no  question 
but  that  the  sentence,  so  far,  was  in  the  most  cor 
rect  Arabic. 

"  He  has  established  what  he  claims  to  do  al 
ready,"  whispered  Hoffmeyer  Bey  to  Banner- 
man's  ward.  The  girl  nodded  her  head.  Her  lips 
were  parted,  and  she  was  breathing  quickly. 

The  chalk  moved  again,  hesitated,  and  stopped. 
The  mind-reader  read  over  to  himself  what  was 
written.  There  was  a  strange  look  on  his  face 
which  told  nothing,  but  there  was  something  dep 
recatory  in  his  tone  as  he  said  aloud,  "His  Excel 
lency,  the  British  Minister — " 

There  was  a  movement  in  the  surrounding  cir 
cle  as  though  they  had  each  felt  that  the  affair 
had  taken  on  a  more  intimate  and  personal  com 
plexion.  And  though  each  assured  himself  that 
what  was  to  follow  was  but  a  compliment  from 
the  English  showman  to  the  English  lord,  there 
was  something  so  uneasy  in  the  manner  of 
the  mind -reader  that  the  fancy  of  each  took 
alarm,  and  the  interest  of  all  became  deeply  en 
gaged. 


90  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

The  girl  still  stood  trancelike  and  with  bowed 
head,  while  her  arm  moved  across  the  black  sur 
face  of  the  board,  but  in  the  bearing  of  the  mind- 
reader  there  was  the  dismay  of  one  who  finds  the 
matter  in  hand  growing  beyond  his  control,  and 
with  this  there  was  the  touch  of  fear.  It  was  in 
a  tone  so  low  that  it  barely  penetrated  the  length 
of  the  room  that  he  read  the  broken  phrase  which 
followed — "  visits  the  opera  to-morrow  night — " 
he  said. 

As  he  pronounced  these  words  there  was  a  sud 
den  movement  in  the  circle  about  him,  coming 
from  no  one  person,  and  yet  so  apparent  in  its 
significance  that  each  looked  furtively  at  his  neigh 
bor,  and  dropped  his  eyes,  or  turned  them  anxious 
ly  towards  the  blackboard.  Bannerman  raised  his 
body,  and  straightened  himself  as  though  he  was 
about  to  speak  further,  but  the  scratching  and 
tapping  of  the  chalk  upon  the  board  interrupted 
him,  and  he  dropped  his  head.  It  was  as  though 
he  did  not  wish  to  see  the  completion  of  his 
work. 

The  voice  of  the  young  American  Minister  from 
the  back  of  the  room  broke  the  tense  stillness  of 
the  moment.  He  gave  a  long  indrawn  sigh  of  ap 
preciation.  •'*  Mene,  Mene,  Tekel,  Upharsin,"  he 
quoted,  mockingly. 

"  Silence  !"  HofFmeyer  Bey  commanded,  half 
rising  from  the  divan.  And  the  silence  he  com 
manded  answered  him.  The  air  of  the  room 
seemed  charged  with  electricity.  It  was  as  though 


THE    WRITING    ON    THE    WALL  91 

every  one  present  were  part  of  a  huge  battery; 
but  no  one  moved.  The  scratching  on  the  board 
ceased.  The  girl's  arm  dropped  to  her  side,  and 
the  chalk  fell  and  broke  upon  the  floor. 

Bannerman  raised  his  eyes  and  read  the  com 
pleted  phrase  in  a  voice  in  which  fear  and  a  cer 
tain  exultation  were  strangely  blended. 

"  His  Excellency  the  British  Minister,"  he  trans 
lated,  "  visits  the  opera  to-morrow-night  at  the  risk 
of  his  life." 

His  voice  died  away  as  though  afraid  of  its  own 
daring,  and  there  was  complete  stillness. 

Then  Imrnen  Pasha  stepped  quickly  into  the 
centre  of  the  room.  "Bring  back  those  lights," 
he  commanded.  He  strode  hastily  to  where  the 
mind-reader  stood,  picking  up  the  scarf  Miss  Page 
had  dropped  upon  the  floor  as  be  did  so,  and  draw 
ing  it  across  the  surface  of  the  board. 

Miss  Page  opened  her  eyes,  and  closed  them 
again  as  though  they  were  heavy  with  sleep.  She 
shivered  slightly  like  one  awakening,  and  ran  her 
left  hand  up  and  down  her  other  arm.  Immen 
Pasha's  movements  as  he  swept  the  board  caused 
her  to  raise  her  head,  and  her  interest  seemed  to 
awaken. 

"  Oh,  how  curious  !"  she  said.  "  Did  I  write 
that?" 

The  sound  of  her  voice  seemed  to  set  free  a  spell 
that  had  been  put  upon  the  room.,  and  there  was  a 
sudden  chorus  of  nervous  laughter  and  of  general 
exclamation,  above  which  could  be  heard  the  voice 


92  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

of  the  British  Minister,  saying  :  "  No  ;  he  was  be 
fore  my  time ;  but  I  remember  Maskelyne  and 
Cook  at  their  place  in  Piccadilly,  and  they  were 
most  amusing.  They  used  to — 

The  boyish  faces  of  the  English  subalterns  had 
grown  masklike  and  expressionless.  They  uncon 
sciously  drew  together  in  little  groups  of  red, 
and,  discovering  this,  instantly  parted  again.  The 
diplomats  were  smiling  and  chattering  volubly ; 
the  native  Egyptians  alone  maintained  their  pla 
cidity  of  manner.  Immen  Pasha  pushed  his  way 
hurriedly  to  the  side  of  the  English  Minister's 
wife. 

"There  is  a  supper,"  he  said,  bowing  gravely. 
"It  has  been  awaiting  us  some  time.  Will  you 
allow  me  ?" 

The  English  woman  smiled  distantly,  and  flut 
tered  her  fan.  "  It  is  so  late,"  she  said,  "  I  am 
afraid  we  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  let  us  go." 

Through  the  open  windows  of  the  street  below 
could  be  heard  the  voices  of  the  servants  calling 
for  the  British  Minister's  carriage,  and  it  seemed  to 
be  for  all  an  alarming  signal  of  departure.  So 
hastily  did  they  make  their  adieux  that  it  seemed 
as  though  each  one  feared  to  be  left  among  the 
last. 

Young  Page  overtook  Prince  Panine  as  the 
latter  was  hurrying  on  towards  the  Khedival 
Club.  "  Going  my  way,  Panine  ?"  he  asked.  "  I 
say,"  he  went  on,  "  what  a  shame  it  broke  up  so 
soon  !  Immen  had  a  fine  supper  for  us,  and  I  am 


THE    WRITING    ON    THE    WALL  93 

hungry.    Helen  and  that  mind-reading  chap  spoiled 
the  whole  evening  between  them." 

Panine  turned  his  head  and  surveyed  his  young 
companion  in  the  darkness.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  "  be 
tween  them  they  spoiled  several  things." 


THE   RIGHT   OF   WAY 


^  HIS  is  a  true  story,  and 
one  that  is  intended  to 
illustrate  a  characteristic  of 
the  English  people.  It  shows, 
I  think,  to  what  lengths  an 
Englishman  will  go  to  gain 
his  rights,  when  an  American 
would  say,  "  Oh,  what  is  the 
use?"  or,  "Never  mind."  One 
of  the  reasons  England  is  such 
a  comfortable  place  in  which 
to  live  is  due  to  the  fact  that 
the  English  people  have  this  peculiar  habit  of 
fighting  for  their  rights,  by  letters  to  the  Times, 
or  by  taking  the  numbers  of  cabmen  and  police 
men  and  appearing  against  them  in  the  morn 
ing,  or  by  sending  war -ships  into  strange  har 
bors  where  the  window-panes  of  some  English 
merchants  have  been  smashed.  If  there  were 
elevated  roads  in  London,  the  clerk  who  lives  in 
Kensington  would  not  hang  and  swing  from  a 
strap  on  his  way  to  and  from  the  city.  He  would 
see  that  he  was  given  the  seat  for  which  he  had 
paid.  The  American  is  too  busy  and  too  good- 


THE    RIGHT    OF    WAY  95 

natured  to  fight  for  his  rights,  so  he  continues  to 
stand  from  Rector  Street  to  Harlem,  and  to  walk 
over  unclean  streets,  and  sees  the  beautiful  green 
park  at  the  Battery  taken  from  him  and  turned 
into  a  railroad  terminus.     He  will  learn,  in  time, 
that  the  reason  the  Englishman  has  better  roads 
and  better  streets  and  better  protection  for  his  life 
and  property  is  because  he  "  makes  a  kick  about 
it,"  and  protests  and  growls  and  is  generally  dis 
agreeable  until  he  gets  what  he  wants.     Good 
nature  is  not  always  a  virtue,  and  sometimes  the 
easy-going  person  is  a  very  selfish  one,  too.    Equal 
ly  strong  with  his  desire  to  have  his  rights  is  the 
Englishman's  deference  for  the  rights  of  others. 
He  shows  this  deference  by  respecting  the  Eng 
lish  law,  which  makes  those  rights  good.     There 
was  a  young  woman  in  England  who  told  me  that 
she  and  seven  or  eight  other  young  people  had 
tramped  in  single  file  through  a  gentleman's  din 
ing-room  one   evening,  while  he  and  his  guests 
were  at  dinner,  in  order  to  establish  a  right  of 
way.     The  Englishman  had  built  his  house  on  a 
meadow  directly  across  a  pathway  that  had  been 
used  for  centuries,  and  once  a  year  the   young 
people  of  the  neighboring  estates  marched  across 
his  lawn,  and  up  his  stairs,  and  through  his  house, 
in  order  that  he  should  remember  that  the  right 
of  way  still  existed.     She  was  an  exceedingly  shy 
and  well-bred  young  person,  and  of  a  family  quite 
as  old  as  the  right  of  way,  but  it  apparently  did 
not  strike  her  that  she  was   rude  in   tramping 


96  THE    EXILES,  AXD    OTHER    STORIES 

through  a  stranger's  house,  or,  indeed,  that  she 
was  doing  anything  but  a  public  duty.  And  the 
interesting  point  of  the  story  to  me  was  that  the 
English  householder,  instead  of  getting  a  Win 
chester  and  driving  the  young  trespassers  off  of 
his  lawn,  should  have  had  so  full  an  appreciation 
of  their  right  to  question  his  right  that  he  simply 
bit  his  lips  and  went  to  law  about  it. 

There  was  an  Irishman  in  the  same  county  who 
lived  in  a  small  cottage  on  an  estate,  and  who  was 
in  the  habit  of  crossing  from  it  to  another  through 
the  gateway  of  a  very  distinguished  and  noble 
gentleman.  He  had  done  this  for  twenty  years, 
and  when  the  noble  gentleman  came  into  some 
more  money  and  hung  two  fine  iron  gates  be 
tween  the  posts,  the  Irish  laborer  took  a  crow-bar 
and  broke  the  hinges  on  which  they  hung,  and 
tramped  over  them  on  his  way.  He  was  put  in 
jail  for  this  for  a  month,  at  the  end  of  which  time 
he  went  after  his  crow-bar  and  tore  the  gates  down 
again.  When  he  had  been  in  jail  five  times  in 
six  months,  the  people  round  about  took  up  his 
case,  and  the  right  of  way  was  declared  a  just 
one,  and  the  gates  came  down  forever.  The 
Englishman  will  go  further  than  this;  he  will  not 
only  fight  for  his  rights,  but  he  will  fight  for  some 
other  man's  rights ;  he  will  go  out  of  his  road  to 
tramp  through  a  gentleman's  property  simply  be 
cause  the  people  in  the  neighborhood  are  disputing 
for  right  of  way  with  him.  I  heard  of  three  young 
barristers  when  I  was  in  London  who  went  on  a 


THE    RIGHT    OF    WAY  97 

walking-tour,  and  who  laid  out  their  route  entire 
ly  with  the  purpose  in  view  of  taking  in  all  the 
disputed  rights  of  way  in  the  counties  through 
which  they  passed,  and  who  cheerfully  sacrificed 
themselves  for  the  good  of  others  by  forcing  their 
way  into  houses  and  across  private  grounds  and 
by  tearing  down  hedges. 

This  brings  me  to  the  particular  right-of-way 
case  in  which  I  was  involved,  and  of  which  I 
was  appointed  chronicler.  I  have  been  somewhat 
tardy  in  bringing  the  true  story  of  this  inglorious 
Oxford  movement  to  the  attention  of  the  world  ; 
but  now  that  it  is  to  be  written  it  will  be  given 
fully  and  with  all  possible  detail,  as  befits  so  im 
portant  an  event  in  the  history  of  the  struggles 
for  English  liberty. 

The  Balliol  Eight  had  bumped  the  boat  in  front 
that  day,  and  were  celebrating  the  fact  with  a 
dinner.  I  remember  this  dinner  very  well,  be 
cause  each  of  the  eight  had  come  to  me  in  a 
friendly  way  during  the  afternoon,  and  had  told 
me  not  to  dress  for  dinner,  as  only  bounders  and 
cads  wore  dress  clothes  at  a  "  wine."  I  accord 
ingly  came  in  flannels,  and  found  the  entire  eight 
in  the  proper  garments  of  evening,  and  with  a 
pained  and  surprised  look  at  my  appearance,  and 
when  I  demanded  with  some  indignation  why 
they  had  put  me  in  such  a  position,  they  all  de 
nied  ever  having  spoken  to  me  at  any  time  on  the 
subject  of  dress,  and  apologized  for  my  appear 
ance  to  the  other  guests  by  explaining  that  I 


98  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

came  from  America,  where  evening  dress  was 
unknown.  The  guests  accepted  this  as  an  in 
teresting  fact,  and  the  eight  grinned  together  in 
unison  at  the  success  of  what  they  considered  a 
very  subtle  practical  joke.  But  I  had  my  re 
venge,  as  they  were  still  in  training  for  Henley, 
and  could  eat  nothing  but  cold  meat,  and  so  were 
forced  to  look  on  at  the  celebration  of  their  vic 
tory  by  the  only  men  present  who  had  in  no  pos 
sible  way  contributed  towards  it.  It  was  near 
the  close  of  the  dinner  when  the  Hon.  Hubert 
Howard,  who  pulled  bow  that  day,  rapped  for 
silence,  and  when  he  had  obtained  it,  announced 
gravely  that  he  was  looking  for  volunteers  to 
join  him  in  an  expedition  which  promised  much 
excitement,  possible  danger,  and  the  ultimate 
success  of  which  would  bring  liberty  to  many 
British  subjects.  Having  gained  the  centre  of 
the  stage  by  this  declaration,  he  stood  up  and 
further  explained  himself.  He  began  with  the 
deliberation  of  one  who  has  a  long  story  before 
him,  and  who  means  to  tell  it  with  all  possible 
detail. 

"  Last  summer,"  he  began,  "  a  chap  named  Cur- 
zon  started  to  row  from  Stratford  to  Warwick 
with  Harry  Farmer,  the  gentleman  on  my  right, 
whose  work  at  stroke,  I  may  add  parenthetically, 
so  largely  contributed  to  our  success  of  this  after 
noon."  Mr.  Farmer  blushed  at  this  and  bowed  his 
head,  and  everybody  except  the  boy  who  wanted 
Farmer's  place  in  the  boat  rapped  with  his  knife- 


THE    RIGHT    OF    WAY  99 

handle  and  cried  "  Hear  !  hear  !"  in  patronizing 
tones. 

"  They  rowed  about  seven  miles,"  Howard  con 
tinued,  "  until  they  were  stopped  by  a  barrier  of 
chains  and  iron  rods  across  the  river  at  Charle- 
cote.  The  Charlecote  estate,  as  you  know,  be 
longs  to  the  Lucy  family,  and  their  land  runs  on 
both  banks  of  the  Avon.  They  keep  deer  there, 
and  they  claim  that  the  excursionists  from  War 
wick  and  Stratford,  who  row  up  and  down  the 
river,  frighten  these  deer.  As  you  may  remember, 
the  Lucys  were  always  very  particular  about  their 
deer;  they,  or  one  of  them,  had  Shakespeare  him 
self  up  for  killing  a  deer,  and  so  handed  them 
selves  down  to  an  inglorious  immortality.  Well, 
they've  put  this  iron  barrier  up  now  to  keep  the 
boats  out,  and  they've  marked  the  river  that 
runs  through  their  lands  '  Private  Water.'  When 
Farmer  and  Curzon  discovered  it,  they  rowed  back 
to  a  village  and  borrowed  some  tools  and  broke 
the  barrier  down,  and  rowed  on  into  the  private 
water,  for  which  the  agent  of  the  estate  took 
Farmer's  name,  and  told  him  he  would  summon 
him  to  the  high  courts  for  trespass  and  destruc 
tion  of  private  property.  That  was  just  a  year 
ago  this  June,  and  they  haven't  summoned  him 
yet,  and  they  never  will.  And  why?  Why,  be 
cause  they  are  afraid,  because  they  know  they've 
no  more  right  to  block  that  thoroughfare  than 
they  have  to  build  a  wall  across  the  Strand.  Sup 
pose  a  man  owned  a  house  on  both  sides  of -the 


100  THE    EXILES,   AND    OTHER    STORIES 

Strand,  th.it  wouldn't  give  him  the  right  to  run 
a  fence  between  his  two  properties,  would  it  ?  Of 
course  it  wouldn't.  Well,  that's  what  these  peo 
ple  have  done.  Now  we  have  been  correspond 
ing  with  the  Stratford  Rowing  Club,  and  they 
tell  us  that  the  barrier  has  been  built  up  again, 
and  they  want  to  know  if  we  won't  go  there  and 
break  it  down.  They're  afraid  to  do  it  them 
selves,  you  see,  because  they  live  too  near  to 
Charlecote,  and  the  Lucys  might  make  it  unpleas 
ant  for  them.  So  Farmer  and  I  are  going  down 
there  to-morrow  or  next  day  to  tear  down  that 
barrier,  and  any  other  gentleman  who  wants  to 
sacrifice  himself  for  the  sake  of  liberty  can  come 
witli  us.  I  call  for  volunteers." 

There  was  much  confusion  and  questioning  and 
mocking  laughter. 

"Right  on  our  side?"  demanded  Howard. 
"There  never  was  a  case  with  so  much  right 
on  one  side.  It  is  overbalanced  with  right.  And 
we've  documents  and  pictures  and  things,  and 
we're  going  to  nail  the  documents  to  a  church 
door.  There's  a  precedent  for  that;  and  I  speak 
to  address  the  populace.  Mr.  -  -  here,"  point 
ing  to  the  father  of  one  of  the  crew,  "is  an  attor 
ney,  and  though  he  won't  let  his  son  go  with  us, 
he'll  be  our  legal  adviser,  and  Davis  will  be 
chronicler  and  treasurer.  Davis,  you  Americans 
are  always  talking  about  your  love  of  liberty,  and 
here's  a  chance  to  exhibit  it.  Besides,  somebody 
must  be  treasurer,  or  we  can't  go." 


THE    RIGHT    OF    WAY  101 

I  temporized  by  saying  that  I  should  like  to 
hear  from  the  legal  adviser  now  instead  of  later, 
when  his  advice  would  not  perhaps  be  so  valu 
able.  The  legal  adviser  smiled,  and  asked  what 
these  documents  of  Howard's  might  be. 

"  One  of  them  is  an  order  in  Privy  Council, 
issued  by  Charles  II.,  declaring  that  the  Avon 
must  be  kept  clear  and  open  from  Coventry  to 
the  Severn;  and  we've  got  an  old  engraving  of 
Charlecote  which  proves  conclusively  that  there 
was  no  barrier  there  as  late  as  1790  ;  and  we  also 
have  indirect  backing  in  the  fact  that  the  Earl  of 
Warwick  had  to  get  an  act  of  Parliament  passed 
before  he  could  put  up  a  barrier  at  Warwick 
Castle,  which  is  a  step  the  Lucys  have  never 
taken." 

The  legal  adviser,  after  a  pause,  asked  if  How 
ard  rested  his  case  there,  and  on  the  Honorable 
Hubert's  replying  that  he  did,  the  legal  adviser 
instantly  withdrew  from  it.  "I  don't  believe 
you  really  want  an  attorney,"  he  said,  "though 
you'll  need  one  badly  enough  before  you  get 
through." 

But  they  were  not  at  all  frightened,  and  to  the 
American  there  was  something  particularly  amus 
ing  in  the  idea  of  destroying  a  gentleman's  pri 
vate  property  on  the  strength  of  a  document  is 
sued  three  hundred  years  back  in  the  past.  I 
wanted  to  see  what  an  English  householder  would 
do  under  the  circumstances  ;  I  could  guess  how 
the  American  householder  would  act.  So  it  was 


102  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

agreed  that  I  should  supply  the  money  to  bai» 
them  out  in  case  of  their  being  arrested,  if  they 
would  supply  the  copies  of  the  order  in  council 
arid  the  weapons  for  the  attack.  I  was  also  to  act 
as  photographer  and  chronicler  of  the  expedition, 
and  to  help  enroll  two  other  men.  Further  than 
this  I  refused  to  strike  a  blow  for  the  cause  of 
British  liberty;  but  as  it  turned  out  we  all  had  to 
strike  several  blows. 

We  went  down  to  jStratford  third  class,  with 
three  sledge  -  hammers  and  three  crow-bars  in  a 
green -baize  cricket  -  bag,  at  which  the  guards 
would  make  a  grab,  and  then  drop  it  with  a  crash 
upon  the  platform,  with  the  final  conviction,  as  we 
drew  out  of  the  station,  that  they  had  fallen  upon 
a  kit  of  burglar's  tools.  There  were  five  in  the 
party  —  Howard  and  Farmer,  T.  P.  Rogers,  the 
Captain  of  the  Eight,  and  Murray,  all  of  Balliol 
College,  and  myself.  There  was  another  man 
coming,  who  had  been  asked  chiefly  on  account  of 
his  name,  but  he  overslept  himself,  and  so  missed 
all  the  glory.  Howard  tried  to  get  several  other 
titles  for  the  same  reason,  as  he  thought  he  would 
impress  the  police  ;  but  their  owners  strangely 
enough  objected,  and  for  the  same  reason,  saying 
that  the  police  were  about  the  last  people  they 
had  any  desire  to  impress.  We  told  them  they 
had  no  sporting  blood,  and  when  they  read  this 
they  will  be  sorry  they  did  not  take  the  chance 
we  gave  them  to  add  further  lustre  to  their  an 
cient  and  distinguished  names.  We  called  our- 


THE    RIGHT    OF    WAY  103 

selves  the  Sons  of  Liberty,  and  when  we  arrived 
at  Stratford  distributed  our  orders  in  council  from 
the  top  of  the  coach,  and  left  them  at  the  doors  of 
several  houses  belonging  to  gentlemen  connected 
with  the  local  government  and  the  Stratford  Row 
ing  Club.  There  was  no  church  on  our  way  to 
the  river,  so  Howard  could  not  nail  one  of  the 
orders  to  its  door,  and  we  were  in  too  much  of 
a  hurry  to  wait  for  him  while  he  addressed  the 
populace. 

"Little  they  know,"  Howard  said,  as  he  pulled 
away  in  the  boat  we  had  hired  at  the  landing, 
"as  they  go  idly  by,  that  we  are  going  to 
strike  a  blow  for  their  rights  and  liberties.  To 
them  we  are  merely  a  party  of  rowing-men  out 
for  a  lark,  and  that  bag  which  is  filled  with 
destruction  contains  nothing  more  terrible  than 
luncheon." 

We  all  wished  that  it  did  contain  nothing 
more  terrible  than  luncheon  before  we  had 
rowed  very  far,  for  the  Avon  seemed  to  run 
uphill,  and  at  places  we  all  had  to  get  overboard 
to  lighten  the  boat,  and  to  pull  her  over  the 
shoals,  while  we  stood  knee -deep  in  the  water. 
By  two  o'clock  we  had  covered  five  of  the  seven 
miles  before  us,  and  had  eaten  and  rested  at  a 
little  village  where  the  innkeeper  was  very  rude 
to  us. 

"There  again,"  said  Howard,  "you  see  the 
ingratitude  which  makes  martyrs.  The  inn 
keeper  doesn't  know  that  we  are  going  to  in- 


104  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

crease  his  Sunday  trade  for  travellers  at  least 
two  pounds  a  week.  He  thinks  we  are  a  lot  of 
vagabonds,  and  now  that  I  come  to  look  at  the 
rest  of  you,  I  don't  much  blame  him.  But  it  is 
always  thus  with  great  reformers.  They  suffer 
that  others  may  reap  the  benefit.  To  obtain  lib 
erty—" 

"  Oh,  look  where  you  are  steering  us  to !"  cried 
Rogers,  "  and  don't  talk  so  much." 

"  You're  getting  rattled,  T.  P.,"  Howard  called 
back  cheerfully.  "  It's  not  too  late  to  drop  out  if 
you  choose." 

We  were  all  rather  silent.  The  rich  green 
banks  lay  level  on  either  side  of  us,  uninhabited 
save  for  an  occasional  fisherman  dozing  beneath 
a  bunch  of  willows  and  for  the  birds  that  sang  to 
us  across  the  meadows.  And  only  half  a  mile 
ahead  we  saw  a  row  of  great  trees  and  an  old 
water-mill,  which,  so  Farmer  explained  to  us  in  a 
whisper  as  though  he  was  afraid  the  birds  might 
overhear  him,  marked  our  near  approach  to  the 
Charlecote  lands. 

"  It's  only  another  bend  of  the  river  now,  and 
then  you  can  see  the  barrier  yourselves.  There 
will  be  no  one  about,"  he  added,  with  great  indif 
ference — "at  least,  I  think  not.  The  barrier  is 
over  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  house,  and  the 
family  seldom  walk  there.  We  can  hack  it  down 
and  get  away  again,"  he  added,  reassuringly, "  be 
fore  they  know  what  is  going  on." 

We  all  looked  more  cheerful. 


1  THERE,  NOW,  DON'T  YOU  TAKE  ON  SO  '  " 


THE    RIGHT    OF    WAY  105 

"  Let's  go  on  to  Warwick  and  break  down  that 
barrier,  too,"  cried  Howard.  "  We  might  as  well 
make  a  clean  sweep  of  the  river  while  we're  out. 
What  do  you  think  ?" 

None  of  us  said  what  we  thought..  We  were 
rather  quiet,  all  save  Howard,  whose  delight  and 
excitement  were  rising  visibly. 

"  Now  look  again,  Farmer,"  he  cried,  as  the 
boat  swung  around  the  bend  ;  "  can  you  see  it 
from  here  ?"  Farmer,  who  was  sitting  in  the 
bow,  stood  up,  and  the  Sons  of  Liberty  rested  on 
their  oars  and  waited.  "  Yes,"  he  cried,  excitedly, 
"  I  can  see  it ;  we  are  almost  on  it.  They've  built 
it  up  again,  and  then — oh,  I  say — "  His  voice 
changed  and  died  out  so  suddenly  that  we  all 
scrambled  to  our  feet  to  see  for  ourselves  without 
waiting  for  an  explanation. 

What  we  saw,  two  hundred  yards  ahead  of  us, 
was  a  barrier  of  iron  rods  and  chains  swung  be 
tween  heavy  wooden  posts  that  rose  three  feet 
above  the  water-line,  and  the  level  turf  stretching 
away  from  one  bank  to  a  thick  woods,  and  from 
the  other  to  a  great  mansion.  But  the  turf  be 
tween  the  barrier  and  the  house  was  covered  with 
tents  and  marquees,  and  overrun  with  workmen 
who  were  digging  and  hammering  and  filling  the 
place  with  life  and  movement.  Instead  of  find 
ing  our  barrier  at  a  deserted  bend  of  the  river, 
hidden  by  overhanging  bushes,  we  had  come  upon 
it  apparently  in  the  only  populated  spot  upon  the 
Avon,  and  we  stood  silent  and  dumfounded  like 


106  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

criminals  caught  in  a  trap.     Tt  was  Howard  who 
was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  I  say,"  he  exclaimed,  delightedly,  "  we  are  go 
ing  to  have  an  audience,  aren't  we  ?  I  must  say, 
Farmer,  it  was  rather  civil  of  you  to  send  them 
word." 

"  They're  making  ready  for  an  agricultural  fair, 
or  a  lawn-party,  or  something,"  growled  Farmer. 
"  How  could  I  know  that  ?  What  shall  we  do 
now?" 

"  Do  ?"  said  Murray.  "  What  do  you  suppose  ? 
We  haven't  travelled  four  hours  in  a  third-class 
compartment,  and  rowed  seven  miles  uphill,  to 
go  back  again,  have  we?" 

"Now,  then,"  cried  Howard,  clutching  the  tiller- 
ropes  around  him.  "  Pull  up  to  it  in  style.  Live 
ly,  now.  Bump  her  right  into  it."  They  fell 
back  in  their  places  and  shot  at  a  racing  pace 
over  the  last  stretch  that  lay  between  them  and 
the  private  water  ;  when  they  came  to  the  bar 
rier  they  slowed  up,  and,  unshipping  their  oars, 
ran  the  boat  up  broadside  against  it.  "  Make 
her  fast  there  at  both  ends,"  Howard  commanded, 
standing  up  and  laughing  with  excitement.  "You 
mustn't  land.  If  you  did,  they  would  have  us  up 
for  trespass.  We  must  attack  it  from  the  boat." 
"Wait  a  minute,"  I  shouted  back;  "I  want 
those  orders  in  council  put  up  first." 

"Quite  right,"  answered  Howard.  "Farmer, 
run  along  the  barrier  and  put  one  up  on  that  tree 
where  they  can  see  it." 


" '  YOU  CAN'T  GO  THROUGH  THERE,  SIR  !'  " 


EXHIBIT  "B." 
March  9,  163 5. 

OKDER   OF  THE   KING   IN   COUNCIL. 

Sec  :  Wimlebank  this  day  acquainted  his  Majesty,  sit 
ting  in  Council,  that  Wm.  Sandys,  of  Fladbury,  co.  Worces 
ter,  had  undertaken  at  his  own  cost  to  make  the  river 
Avon  passable  from  Severn,  where  that  river  falls  in  near 
Tewkesbury,  through  counties  Worcester,  Gloucester,  and 
Warwick,  unto  or  near  Coventry,  and  that  he  has  been 
already  at  great  charge  therein  ;  also  that  Mr.  Sandys  in 
tends  to  make  passable  a  good  part  of  the  river  Teme  ly 
ing  towards  Ludlpw,  whereby  the  said  counties  may  be 
better  supplied  with  wood,  iron,  and  pit  coals  which  they 
want.  It  was  ordered  that  commissions  should  be  issued 
to  persons  of  quality  in  each  of  the  said  counties,  author 
izing  them  to  see  that  all  persons  interested  in  any  lands, 
soil,  mill,  or  other  thing  adjoining  the  rivers  aforesaid  be 
reasonably  compounded  with,  and  to  call  before  them 
such  persons  as  shall  not  be  content  to  accept  reasonable 
recompence  for  their  estates  whereof  use  is  necessarily  to 
be  made.  In  such  case  the  Commissioners  are  to  assess 
such  recompence  to  be  given  by  Sandys  as  shall  be  just  ; 
and  if  in  a  business  so  well  approved  by  his  Majesty  the 
Commissioners  find  any  persons  factious  or  opposing,  they 
are  to  certify  their  names  to  the  board  that  such  further 
order  may  be  taken  as  shall  be  just.  Lastly  the  Attorney 
General  is  to  give  his  special  furtherance  in  this  under 
taking. 
See  CALENDAR  OF  STATE  PAPERS. 

Edited  by  Bruce. 
Longmans,  1866. 

S — on — A  CORPORATION  RECORDS.     AVON  NAVIGATION. 

Council  Book  C.  p.  126.— 

At  a  Hall  held  9  January  1635.—  "  At  this  Hall  a  Writinge 
passed  under  or  Comon  Scale  unto  Wm  Sandis  esq.  testify 
ing  V  approbation  comendacon  and  alowance  of  the  mak- 
inge  of  the  River  of  Avon  passible  for  bringinge  of  Wares 
from  sondrye  places  to  this  boroughe  of  Stratford." 

do  p.  200.  Hall  held  1  Oct.  1641.— "  Mr.  Wm.  Sandes  is  to 
have  the  Comon  Scale  to  a  peticon  to  be  Drawne  by  Mr 
Dighton  for  assistance  in  his  navigacon  and  for  mendinge 
the  highewaies." 


108  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

Farmer  stepped  over  the  side  and  on  to  the 
barrier,  and  worked  his  way  along  it  as  a  sailor 
runs  out  on  the  bowsprit.  When  he  had  reached 
the  bank  farthest  from  the  house  and  from  the 
workmen,  he  nailed  the  order  in  council  upon  a 
tree  which  stood  so  close  to  the  water's  edge  that 
it  was  used  as  a  support  for  the  barrier.  It  had 
all  been  done  in  a  second  of  time,  but  one  of  the 
workmen  on  the  estate  had  seen  us  coming  and 
had  run  down  to  the  edge  of  the  bank  to  meet  us. 

"  You  can't  go  through  there,  sir,"  he  called, 
waving  with  his  hand.  "  That's  private  water, 
sir." 

T.  P.  Rogers  was  on  his  knees  working  at  the 
straps  of  the  cricket -bag;  he  pulled  out  the 
sledge-hammers  and  held  them  up,  and  Howard 
swung  one  blindly  and  struck  the  lock  of  the 
gate  that  formed  the  centre  of  the  barrier.  The 
lock  rattled,  but  the  gate  stood  like  a  stone  wall. 

"  First  blood  for  us,"  Howard  claimed.  "  Now, 
all  together  !" 

The  workman  dropped  his  shovel  and  started 
on  a  run  towards  the  house,  calling  to  his  mates. 
Some  of  them  followed  him,  and  others  ran  down 
to  the  water's  edge  and  consulted  together  in 
great  uncertainty.  They  were  the  first  persons 
to  show  me  that  day  that  an  Englishman  knows 
when  it  is  not  his  place  to  interfere,  and  that  all 
things,  even  the  resisting  of  an  assault,  must  be 
done  decently  and  with  due  regard  for  law  and 
order.  All  of  the  Sons  of  Liberty  had  crow-bars 


THE    RIGHT    OF    WAY  109 

or  hammers  in  their  hands  now,  and  were  striking 
frantically  but  impotently  at  the  swinging  chains. 
But  as  they  were  doing  no  possible  damage,  I  ad 
vised  them  to  stop  until  they  could  pick  out  the 
vulnerable  point  of  the  barrier,  and  while  they 
were  doing  this  I  photographed  them.  The  pict 
ure  shows  them  when  this  photograph  was  being 
taken. 

Each  of  us  had  an  entirely  different  idea  as  to 
how  the  barrier  should  be  attacked,  and  we  were 
all  shouting  at  once,  and  telling  each  other  to 
"  Hit  it  there,  where  it  joins,"  or  "  Here,  give  it 
to  me,"  or  "  I'll  show  you,  let  me  have  it,"  and 
"  It  is  no  use  prying  at  that,  knock  it  off  with  the 
sledge." 

It  was  most  exciting,  and  as  the  crow-bars  struck 
the  iron  chains  and  the  sledges  rang  on  the  gate 
way,  the  sparks  flew  brilliantly,  so  that  one  might 
have  thought  they  were  fighting  their  way  out  of 
prison  instead  of  into  a  stretch  of  pretty  water. 
They  had  changed  the  soft  summer  quiet  of  the 
Avon  into  the  noisy  clangor  of  a  blacksmith- 
shop. 

"How  long  did  it  take  you  to  get  this  thing 
down  last  time,  Farmer  ?"  Howard  gasped  be 
tween  strokes. 

"An  hour,"  said  Farmer,  who  had  lost  his  crow 
bar  overooard,  and  was  holding  on  to  a  post  to 
steady  the  boat. 

"An  hour!"  gasped  Howard.  "And  we  have 
to  do  it  in  five  minutes."  The  Sons  of  Liberty 


110  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

were  not  used  to  sledges  or  crow-bars,  and  the 
boat  rocked  so  violently  as  they  swung  their  bod 
ies  for  each  stroke  that  the  water  poured  over  the 
sides,  and  one  crow-bar  after  another  was  jerked 
out  of  their  hands  and  shot  with  a  splash  to  the 
bottom  of  the  river.  The  bank  was  crowded  now 
with  workmen  and  the  servants  of  the  Lucy  house 
hold.  A  grave  young  man,  who  looked  as  though 
he  might  be  the  agent  of  the  estate,  was  the  first 
to  arrive.  He  bit  his  nails  and  grinned  feebly, 
and  then  frowned  sternly  in  much  indecision.  He 
was  followed  closely  by  half  a  dozen  stable-boys 
in  gaiters,  and  the  butler  and  underservants  strug 
gling  into  their  coats  as  they  ran.  They  all 
prowled  up  and  down  the  bank  like  animals  in 
a  cage,  not  two  oars'  length  from  us,  or  gath 
ered  in  groups  and  whispered  and  laughed  ner 
vously.  At  every  second  stroke  of  the  flying  ham 
mers  they  turned  their  heads  to  look  back  at  the 
house. 

"  You  fellows  had  better  hurry,"  I  said.  "  Some 
body's  coming  soon  who  means  to  do  something. 
They're  waiting  for  him." 

There  was  only  one  small  hammer  and  a  mean 
little  crow-bar  left  to  us  now,  and  the  four  colle 
gians  stopped  for  lack  of  weapons  and  gazed  hope 
lessly  at  the  barrier,  panting  and  covered  with 
muddy  water  and  perspiration. 

As  each  hammer  or  crow-bar  had  disappeared 
I  had  called  to  the  boys  to  jump  in  after  it ;  but 
they,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  they  were  already 


THE    RIGHT    OF    WAY  111 

wet  and  in  dirty  cricket  flannels  that  would  not 
have  been  hurt  by  a  bath,  had  looked  at  me  scorn 
fully  and  made  no  answer.  Now  that  the  attack 
had  stopped  altogether,  I  besought  them  again. 
But  Rogers  only  growled  and  asked  if  I  wanted 
to  drown  him. 

"  I  thought  anybody  could  swim  under  water," 
I  explained. 

"  Can  you  ?"  Rogers  demanded. 

"  Why,  yes,"  I  answered,  injudiciously. 

"Then  pull  your  clothes  off  and  get  over  there, 
quick,"  cried  Murray,  who  was  the  largest  of 
them,  "  or  we  will  throw  you  over.  Jump  now  !" 

There  was  at  this  time  about  forty  people  on 
the  bank,  and  among  them  a  dozen  house-maids  in 
white  caps,  chaperoned  by  a  fat  cook  who  was 
fanning  herself,  after  her  run,  with  a  large  check 
ered  apron.  I  was  going  that  evening  to  a  coun 
try-house  where  I  knew  no  one  as  yet,  and  was 
not,  in  consequence,  dressed  in  shrunken  cricket 
flannels.  So  for  these  two  reasons  I  hesitated. 

"Come,  jump,"  said  Howard  ;  "you've  got  to 
help  too." 

Whenever  a  crow-bar  had  been  carried  away  the 
crowd  on  the  bank  had  cheered  and  jumped  up 
and  down  with  satisfaction,  but  when  I  got  up 
and  began  to  pull  off  my  clothes  there  was  an  in 
terested  silence,  and  a  hasty  stampede  on  the  part 
of  the  women,  whose  modesty  and  desire  to  see 
the  outcome  of  the  attack  on  the  barrier  pulled 
them  both  ways.  It  was  very  cold  in  the  Avon, 


112  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

and  the  barrier  had  caught  innumerable  brandies 
of  trees  on  their  way  down-stream  and  had  drop 
ped  them  to  the  bottom,  where  they  felt  to  the 
touch  exactly  like  water-snakes,  and  suggested 
man-traps,  though  why  any  one  should  put  a 
man-trap  eight  feet  under  water  I  cannot  now 
imagine,  but  while  I  was  crawling  around  feeling 
for  sledge-hammers  it  seemed  the  most  natural 

O 

and  probable  thing  for  a  person  to  do.  I  got  all 
of  the  weapons  but  one,  and  as  each  showed  above 
the  water  the  boys  yelled,  and  the  crowd  cheered 
too,  as  it  promised  more  entertainment  for  them. 
Then  they  hauled  me  over  the  side  and  went  at 
the  gate  again  more  carefully,  so  carefully,  in 
deed,  that  once,  when  Murray  lost  his  balance, 
he,  sooner  than  let  the  hammer  go,  let  himself  go, 
and  the  result  was  that  the  force  of  the  blow  and 
the  hammer's  weight  pulled  him  forward,  and  he 
hung  himself  up  over  the  barrier  as  a  horse  does 
over  a  fence,  with  the  important  difference  that 
all  of  the  upper  part  of  Murray's  long  body  was 
under  water  while  his  legs  were  kicking  wildly 
in  the  air.  We  pulled  him  back  again,  sputtering 
and  coughing  and  with  green  moss  and  twigs 
and  leaves  sticking  in  his  ears  and  hair,  so  that 
he  looked  like  a  water  -  nymph.  We  were  all 
fighting  the  gate  now,  for  they  had  given  me  a 
hammer  that  I  might  get  warm  again,  and  the 
lock  was  nearly  gone;  then  two  chains  fell  to  the 
bottom,  and  the  lock  broke  and  the  gate  swung 
back,  and  with  a  triumphant  yell  we  pulled  and 


THE    RIGHT    OF    WAY  113 

pushed  our  boat  head -forward  into  the  private 
water.  We  were  not  a  moment  too  soon,  for 
across  the  lawn  came  a  galloping  cob  swinging  a 
dog-cart  behind  him  with  three  men  clinging  to 
its  top,  and  going  at  such  a  pace  that  the  cart 
rocked  like  a  skiff  at  sea.  They  were  the  three 
largest  men  I  had  ever  seen.  They  were  dressed 
in  keepers'  knickerbockers  and  velveteen,  and  of 
course  I,  being  an  American,  expected  they  would 
begin  to  shoot  as  they  reached  the  bank.  I  sup 
posed  from  what  I  had  read  of  game-keepers  in 
Kingsley's  novels  that  they  would  probably  carry 
shot-guns  with  sawed- off  barrels,  such  as  poachers 
affect,  and  while  carefully  steering  the  boat  into 
the  private  water  I  was  wondering  how  far  a  shot 
gun  would  carry,  and  whether  sawing  off  the  bar 
rels  would  not  make  the  shot  scatter  over  a  very 
large  surface.  Howard,  being  an  Englishman, 
knew  perfectly  well  that  no  one  would  shoot  us, 
so  he  hailed  their  approach  gayly. 

"  Now  it's  getting  exciting,"  he  said.  "  Shall 
we  stop  here  and  fight  'em,  or  go  on  to  Warwick 
and  break  down  the  other  barrier  ?" 

We  admired  his  spirit  very  much,  but  we  point 
ed  out  that  we  had  established  our  point  by  de 
stroying  the  barricade  and  entering  the  private 
water,  and  that  it  was  now  a  case  for  lawyers  to 
settle.  So,  in  spite  of  Howard's  remonstrances, 
the  boys  pulled  the  boat's  head  around  towards 
Stratford.  The  keepers  sprang  from  the  cart 
into  a  punt,  and  six  of  the  grooms  and  servants 


114  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

tumbled  in  after  them,  and  with  a  single  oar 
shoved  after  us  in  pursuit. 

"  Let's  stop  and  board  them,"  said  Howard, 
who  was  sitting  impotently  in  the  bow.  But 
Farmer  said  to  go  on,  but  not  to  hurry,  or  they 
would  think  we  were  running  away.  "  Keep  the 
stroke  you  have  got,  and  talk  about  the  weather," 
he  said.  But  our  dignified  and  leisurely  departure 
went  for  nothing,  for  the  first  thing  the  keepers 
went  for  was  the  order  in  council.  They  were 
evidently  not  going  to  attack  any  one  until  they 
had  read  and  digested  this  brief,  and  they  judged 
that  the  piece  of  paper  fluttering  on  the  tree  was 
ours.  It  served  us  as  the  child  thrown  to  the 
wolves  served  the  men  in  the  sleigh,  for  by  the 
time  the  keepers  had  puzzled  it  out,  and  what 
possible  bearing  it  had  on  our  destruction  of 
their  barrier,  we  had  lighted  our  pipes  and  drifted 
gracefully  out  of  sight  around  the  bend. 

"  Such  a  lot  of  muffs  I  never  did  see,"  said 
Howard,  who  was  in  full  mutiny.  "  Why  didn't 
you  row  up  alongside  and  bang  them  with  the 
oars  ?" 

"  What's  the  good  ?"  said  Murray.  "  The  bar 
rier's  down,  isn't  it  ?  There  were  forty  of  them, 
and  they'd  have  thrown  us  in  a  horse-pond,  most 
likely  ;  and  that's  not  dignified.  What's  the  use 
of  rowing  with  keepers  ?  'Tisn't  their  barrier." 

"  Use  ?"  said  Howard.  "  Well,  we'd  have  been 
arrested  for  one  thing,  and  I  could  have  made  a 
speech  too," 


MURRAY    CLUNG   TO   THE    SLEDGE-HAMMER 


THE    RIGHT    OP    WAY  115 

We  lay  on  our  oars  and  let  the  boat  run  with 
the  rapid  current,  which  was  now  with  us,  and  we 
felt  like  patriots  and  heroes  as  the  people  in  the 
occasional  villages  hurried  to  the  banks  to  ask  if 
the  barrier  was  down,  and  on  hearing  that  it  was, 
started  off  with  a  shout  to  tell  their  neighbors. 
Then  the  boats  of  the  Stratford  Rowing  Club  be 
gan  to  appear,  and  the  occupants  asked  the  same 
question,  and  said,  "  That's  good,"  and  laughed 
at  our  muddy  garments  and  dripping  hair. 

"  We'll  have  a  grand  reception  when  we  get  to 
Stratford,"  said  Howard,  gleefully.  "It  will  be 
all  over  the  town  by  that  time.  Those  orders  of 
council  we  threw  out  will  have  stirred  up  their 
curiosity." 

There  was  a  nice  old  gentleman  fishing  from 
a  punt  about  a  mile  from  Stratford,  and  he  re 
garded  our  dishevelled  and  disreputable  appear 
ance  as  we  drifted  towards  him.  "Are  you  the 
gentlemen,"  he  inquired,  doubtfully,  "  who  went 
up  to  Charlecote  to  destroy  the  barrier  ?" 

We  said  that  we  were.  He  regarded  his  bob 
bing  float  with  interest,  and  then  called  after  us, 
without  raising  his  head  : 

"They're  waiting  to  give  you  a  reception  at 
the  bridge.  They  will  be  glad  to  see  you." 

"Do  you  hear  that?"  asked  Howard,  trium 
phantly. 

There  was  something  about  the  nice  old  gentle 
man's  manner  that  I  did  not  fancy,  and  I  said  I 
thought  we  had  much  better  tie  the  boat  up  to  a 


116  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

tree  and  make  a  run  across  country  until  we  struck 
a  railroad  station.  "  We  can  telegraph  the  man 
where  his  boat  is,"  I  said,  "and  send  the  money 
by  mail.  I  don't  want  a  reception." 

But  Howard  would  not  hear  of  it.  "  Why,  that's 
the  best  part ;  that's  our  reward,"  he  remonstrated. 

"  He  wants  to  address  the  populace,"  said  Far 
mer.  "Let  him  alone."  The  bridge  was  black 
with  people,  and  many  more  were  grouped  along 
the  wharf  and  far  up  the  bank. 

"There  must  be  a  boat-race  on,"  I  suggested, 
"and  they're  waiting  for  the  finish." 

"They're  waiting  for  us!"  shouted  Howard,  as 
we  turned  the  last  bend.  "  Isn't  it  glorious  ?"  he 
chuckled. 

But  Farmer,  who  was  pulling  bow  and  looking 
over  his  shoulder,  suddenly  threw  himself  for 
ward  on  his  oar.  "  Stop — back  her!"  he  shouted. 
"  Look  at  the  police !" 

The  entire  constabulary  force  of  Stratford  was 
gathered  in  brave  array  at  the  edge  of  the  water, 
with  an  inspector  at  their  head,  and  our  friends 
the  game-keepers  and  the  nervous  agent  drawn 
up  beside  them.  A  cob,  smothered  with  lather 
and  with  heaving  sides,  was  standing  on  the  bridge 
hitched  to  a  dog-cart,  and  told  the  story. 

"They've  beaten  us,"  said  Howard.  "If  we 
had  rowed  instead  of  drifting,  we  should  have 
won  easily." 

We  paddled  up  to  the  wharf,  and  the  crowd  on 
the  bridge  cheered.  Howard  stood  up  and  took 


THE    EIGHT    OF    WAY  117 

off  his  cap  to  the  inspector.  "  Are  you  going  to 
arrest  us,  Mr.  Policeman  ?"  he  asked. 

"  We  are,"  said  that  dignitary. 

"  Then  we  must  ask  you  to  stand  just  as  you  are 
for  a  minute  until  we  photograph  you.  I  have 
never  been  arrested,  and  I  must  have  the  pictures 
of  the  men  who  do  it  as  souvenirs.  Move  up 
close,"  he  said  to  us  over  his  shoulder,  "  so  that 
Davis  can  get  a  good  focus;  but  don't  get  too 
close,"  he  added,  hastily,  "  or  they'll  grab  us  with 
a  boat-hook." 

We  snapped  the  shutter  at  them  several  times 
from  a  safe  distance,  much  to  their  disgust,  but 
to  the  delight  of  the  crowd,  in  whose  eyes  we 
were  martyrs.  The  attitude  of  the  inspector  was 
strongly  suggestive  of  an  old  hen  on  a  bank  wor 
rying  over  young  ducklings  in  the  water. 

"  Are  you  coming  out  to  us,  sir,"  said  Howard, 
"  or  do  we  have  to  come  in  to  you  ?" 

"Come,  now,  no  nonsense,"  said  the  inspector; 
"  we've  been  here  long  enough."  So  we  ran  the 
boat  to  the  bank  and  gave  ourselves  up.  The  in 
spector  and  the  agent  whispered  together  and  the 
game-keeper  pointed  at  each  of  us. 

"  All  of  them  ?"  said  the  inspector. 

"  All  of  them,"  repeated  the  agent. 

My  hopes  of  reaching  the  country-house  at 
which  I  was  promised  began  to  grow  infinitesi- 
mally  small,  and  I  fingered  nervously  at  the  bail- 
money  in  my  pocket.  "  You  are  not  a  Stratford 
man  ?"  said  the  inspector  to  Howard. 


118  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

Howard  replied  in  a  very  loud  tone  that  he  was 
not,  but  that  that  made  no  difference,  as  the  lib 
erties  and  rights  of  the  people  of  Stratford  were 
as  dear  to  him  as  though  he  had  always  lived 
among  them.  The  men  in  the  back  of  the  crowd 
said  "  'ear  !  'ear  !"  at  this,  and  some  boys  on  the 
bridge  who  were  too  far  off  to  know  what  was 
going  on,  leaned  over  the  railing  and  shouted 
"  Hoorar."  The  inspector  frowned  angrily  and 
took  out  an  imposing-looking  blank  book. 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?"  he  asked,  "  if  you  live 
anywhere,  and  what's  your  name  ?"  Howard  gave 
his  name,  and  Balliol  College,  Oxford,  as  his  ad 
dress.  The  reporters,  who  were  looking  over  the 
inspector's  shoulder  as  he  wrote,  whispered  to 
him  eagerly  at  this,  and  he  stared  at  Howard's 
muddy  garments  and  disreputable  appearance  and 
shook  his  head. 

"This  gentleman  says  that  you're  the  son  of 
Such  a  Person.  Is  that  so  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Well,  what  if  it  is  ?"  said  Howard.  "  I  say," 
he  went  on,  eagerly  turning  to  us,  "this  is  my 
chance,  isn't  it ;  now  I  ivill  address  the  populace." 
There  was  a  broad  row-boat  turned  bottom  up, 
and  Howard  sprang  on  that  and  waved  his  hat  at 
the  crowd.  "  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  the  inspec 
tor  has  shown  surprise  that  we  should  come  all 
the  way  from  Oxford  to  break  down  a  barrier. 
We  would  go  twice  as  far  for  as  good  a  purpose. 
This  gentleman  without  any  shoes  on  has  come 
all  the  way  from  America  to  do  it,  and  we  are 


THE    RIGHT    OP    WAY  119 

glad  and  proud  of  what  we  have  done.  We  are 
going  to  fight  this  case  from  court  to  court  until 
it  reaches  the  House  of  Lords,  and  then,"  he  said, 
suddenly  running  up  to  the  keeper  and  patting 
him  on  his  broad  chest,  to  which  Howard's  hand 
could  just  reach,  "this  keeper  and  I  will  walk  up 
hand  in  hand  to  the  bar  of  the  House  together 
and  settle  this  thing  between  us." 

The  crowd  cheered,  and  we  applauded,  and  ev 
erybody  laughed  except  the  keeper,  who  was  so 
overcome  with  the  idea  of  walking  hand  in  hand 
with  a  peer's  son  to  the  very  bar  of  the  House  of 
Lords  that  he  could  only  grin  helplessly  and  rub 
one  knickerbockered  leg  against  the  other.  Then 
the  inspector  took  the  other  names,  and  as  T.  P. 
was  Captain  of  the  Eight  and  a  very  famous  man 
indeed,  and  as  each  man  save  myself  gave  Balliol 
College,  Oxford,  as  his  address,  the  crowd  contin 
ued  to  laugh  and  cheer,  and  the  inspector  to  look 
worried  and  confused. 

"  It  certainly  is  a  queer  lark  for  gentlemen  like 
you,"  he  remonstrated,  resentfully,  "  to  come  all 
that  way  just  to  break  the  peace  —  and  dressed 
like  that,  too !"  he  added,  as  if  that  were  criminal 
enough  in  itself. 

The  agent  seemed  to  regret  having  mustered 
such  a  show  of  force,  and  assured  us  with  infinite 
politeness  that  our  names  and  not  our  persons 
would  be  quite  sufficient  for  his  purpose.  So  he 
and  the  keepers  drove  off  in  the  cart,  and  the 
towns-people  took  us  to  the  Red  Lion,  wrhere  they 


120  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

gave  us  things  to  drink  and  made  us  fine  speech 
es,  and  organized  committees  to  take  up  subscrip 
tions  and  to  fight  our  case. 

That  ends  this  famous  story,  which  tells  how 
William  Shakespeare  was  avenged,  and  the  lib 
erties  of  the  Stratford  Boating  Club  recognized. 
But  I  grieve  to  relate  that  after  I  left  England 
Farmer  was  summoned  to  appear  before  the  High 
Court,  where  our  order  in  council  and  our  engrav- 

ino-  of  the  Charlecote  estate  without  the  barrier 

& 

made  no  impression  whatsoever,  strange  as  it  may 
appear,  upon  the  judges,  who  smiled  our  attorney 
out  of  court,  and  made  us  pay  eighty  pounds  for 
sacrificing  ourselves  upon  the  altar  of  liberty.  And 
this  in  spite  of  the  assurances  from  all  parts  of  the 
country  which  we  had  received  by  telegraph  and 
through  the  papers  that  we  had  done  well. 

But  the  cruelest  cut  of  all,  perhaps,  is  that  in 
Oxford,  where  this  great  movement  of  reform 
originated,  there  are  some  who  say  that  it  was 
not  for  the  sacred  cause  of  liberty  that  we  broke 
down  the  barrier,  but  in  a  trivial  spirit  of  mis 
chief.  And  thus  are  the  motives  of  all  great  re 
formers  misunderstood. 


HIS    BAD    ANGEL 

THE  Ingrams  were  on  their  way  home,  and  were 
only  waiting  in  London  until  it  was  time  to  take 
the  steamer  from  Southampton.  Alice  Ingram  had 
seen  Thorold's  name  on  one  of  the  bills  that  ad 
vertised  the  two-hundredth  night  of  his  new  opera, 
and  on  the  chance  sent  a  note  to  the  theatre,  ask 
ing  him  to  call  at  t-he  Albemarle  the  next  after 
noon.  She  had  not  seen  him  since  early  in  the 
spring,  in  Paris,  when  he  had  seemed  in  a  fair  way 
of  being  spoiled,  and  the  reports  kind  friends  had 
given  her  of  him  since  were  not  encouraging. 

Thorold  was  one  of  the  Thorolds  of  Salem.  All 
of  his  immediate  ancestors  had  been  born  in  Sa 
lem,  and  had  gone  back  there  to  be  buried,  but 
had  lived  in  Boston  and  on  the  Continent.  The 
family  had  no  particular  characteristics,  except 
the  invariable  good  looks  of  its  members  and 
their  strong  Puritanism,  which  they  had  inherit 
ed,  and  which  had  developed  itself  in  the  case  of 
the  women  into  something  very  like  prudery,  and 
which  had  made  prigs  of  the  men.  Their  discreet 
actions  and  well-regulated  lives  had  always  shown 
as  strong  a  family  likeness  as  had  their  fine  pro 
files,  and  when  "  Archie  "  Thorold  developed  into 


122  THIS    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

a  musical  genius  he  was  looked  upon  with  suspi 
cion  as  the  only  member  of  the  family  whose  con 
duct  before  the  world  needed  the  slightest  expla 
nation. 

He  developed  this  taste  very  early  in  his  life, 
and  composed  Christmas  anthems  and  hymn  tunes 
at  the  age  of  fifteen,  at  which  time  he  was  play 
ing  the  organ  in  the  Episcopal  church  at  jSalern. 
Later,  while  at  Harvard,  lie  wrote  the  music  fof 
the  Hasty  Pudding  theatricals;  and  two  of  the 
comic  songs  of  that  production,  notably  "The 
Night  that  McManus  went  Broke,"  were  sung  all 
over  the  United  States.  Thorold's  elder  brothers 
did  not  regard  this  as  fame,  and  hoped  he  would 
give  up  writing  music  of  any  class  after  leaving 
college  ;  but  he  went  off  to  Baireuth,  and  from 
there  to  Munich,  from  which  place  they  heard  of 
him  occasionally  as  being  very  busy  studying 
thorough-bass.  He  returned  each  winter,  and 
went  to  dances  with  his  sisters  in  a  perfectly  ra 
tional  and  charming  way  ;  but  he  was  off  again 
in  the  spring,  and  when  next  they  heard  of  him 
Lady  Maud  Anstey's  amateurs  and  some  officers 
had  played  and  sung  in  a  cantata  he  had  written 
them  for  a  charity  entertainment ;  and  a  romantic 
opera,  called  "  The  Crusaders,"  of  which  he  had 
written  both  score  and  book,  was  about  to  be 
produced  in  Paris.  This  met  with  success  in 
London,  and  later  in  New  York  as  well,  and  his 
family  finally,  on  the  first  night  of  the  opera's 
production  in  Boston,  experienced  the  sensation 


HIS    BAD    ANGEL  123 

of  seeing  one  of  their  number  leading  an  or 
chestra.  It  was  a  marked  social  as  well  as  theat 
rical  event,  and  Thorold  looked  very  young  and 
very  much  in  earnest  as  he  leaned  forward  and 
beat  his  baton  at  the  violins  and  scowled  at  the 
ladies  of  the  chorus.  It  was  after  this  that  he 
wrote  "  The  Well  of  Truth." 

This  was  a  love-song,  and  almost  any  one  with 
the  most  indifferent  voice  could  make  others  with 
any  feeling  weep  or  sigh  as  it  was  sung  to  them. 
When  Thorold  sang  it  himself  at  the  Tavern 
Club  or  in  the  drawing-rooms,  without  any  roll 
ing  of  the  eyes  or  any  show  of  interest  save  a 
deep  scrutiny  of  the  keys,  every  woman  in  the 
room  felt  he  was  singing  it  at  her,  and  every  man 
present  thought  that  if  he  had  that  voice  and  a 
face  like  that  he  could  win  love  honestly  from 
any  one.  Young  women  sang  "The  Well  of 
Truth  "  to  pianos  and  parlor  organs  all  over  the 
country,  and  older  people  requested  it  for  encores, 
as  it  seemed  to  bring  back  to  them  something  of 
their  youth  ;  and  even  when  it  had  been  scat 
tered  abroad  by  street  organs  and  rearranged  to 
waltz  time  it  lost  nothing  of  its  popularity,  but 
seemed  to  gain  in  favor  as  it  grew  older  and 
more  familiar. 

By  the  time  Thorold's  second  opera  had  been 
produced  people  had  grown  tired  of  saying  what 
a  wonder  it  was  his  head  was  not  turned,  and 
wanted  something  new  to  say,  so  they  said  it  was 
such  a  pity  so  nice  a  boy  allowed  himself  to  be 


124  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

spoiled,  and  the  critics  and  paragraphers  who  had 
stumbled  over  one  another  in  their  haste  to  be 
among  the  first  to  recognize  the  new  composer 
now  hastened  to  point  out  that  the  young  genius 
who  had  awakened  to  find  himself  famous  had 
never  quite  recovered  from  the  shock.  Thorold 
had  not  given  much  weight  to  the  papers  at  the 
first,  and  so  did  not  mind  their  change  of  tone  at 
the  last,  or  their  hints  that  he  was  repeating  him 
self,  and  that  he  was,  after  all,  only  a  clever 
plagiarist,  and  had  too  retentive  a  memory.  This 
had  been  said  of  better  men  than  he.  But  he  did 
mind  what  his  friends  said,  for  he  believed  that 
they  could  be  actuated  only  by  interest  in  his 
best  self,  and  he  was  at  that  time  engaged  in 
watching  his  best  self  critically  to  see  how  well 
it  was  withstanding  this  sudden  shock  of  admira 
tion  and  easily  given  sympathy.  He  had  a  not 
very  original  theory,  for  which  his  Puritan  an 
cestors  were  responsible,  that  the  quality  of  his 
work  depended  on  the  quality  of  his  own  life, 
and  that  as  he  cheapened  himself  and  took  life 
less  seriously,  so  his  work  would  become  less  pure 
and  strong,  and  would  show  to  all  the  world  his 
each  easy  step  from  grace.  No  one  gave  him 
credit  for  such  theories  ;  he,  naturally,  did  not 
exploit  them,  and  he  had  set  his  rules  of  life  so 
much  higher  than  his  neighbors  had  found  it  con 
venient  to  place  theirs  that  they  could  not  follow 
him.  Had  he  married  and  become  the  master  of 
one  household,  as  his  brothers  had  done,  he  would 


HIS    BAD    AXGEL  125 

have  found  bis  principles  much  more  easy  to 
carry  out  than  he  did  in  the  atmosphere  and  so 
ciety  into  which  his  work  and  his  sudden  celeb 
rity  led  him.  But  his  friends  did  not  consider 
this  either. 

"  Confound  my  Puritan  ancestors,  anyway  !" 
he  said  one  day  to  Alice  Ingram.  "It's  all  their 
doing.  They  gave  me  an  artistic  temperament 
and  an  iron-bound  conscience,  and  expect  me  to 
decide  which  one  of  them  is  going  to  win.  They 
won't  compromise,  of  course." 

"That's  right,"  said  Miss  Ingram,  relentlessly. 
"  Put  all  the  blame  on  your  ancestors.  Of  course 
you  have  no  responsibilities." 

"  Alice,"  Thorold  protested,  meekly,  "  don't  you 
think  a  Good  Angel  might  occasionally  be  sym 
pathetic  ?" 

"  You  know  I  don't  like  being  called  a  Good 
Angel,"  Miss  Ingram  answered.  "  It  sounds  like 
such  a  horrid  sort  of  a  person  ;  and,  besides,  you 
get  sympathy  enough  from  silly  girls,  and  a  lot 
of  married  women  who  ought  to  know  better." 

This  was  in  Paris.  Since  then  the  world,  as 
far  as  the  world  could  judge,  went  very  well  with 
Archibald  Thorold  ;  but  Miss  Ingram,  through 
mutual  friends  and  from  his  infrequent  letters, 
knew  that  a  struggle  was  going  on  between  the 
artistic  temperament  and  the  Puritan  conscience, 
and  she  was  very  sad  as  to  the  result.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  the  very  fact  that  the  world  was  so 
ready  to  excuse  so  much  in  so  charming  and  brill- 


126  THE    EXILES,   AND    OTHER    STORIES 

iant  a  young  man  for  the  work  he  had  done  made 
it  all  the  more  necessary  for  him  to  keep  himseL 
untarnished  from  the  world,  and  to  refuse  to  ac 
cept  its  indulgences,  because  they  were  so  easily 
given. 

It  was  this  quality  in  Alice  Ingram  that  at 
tracted  Thorold.  She  had  appealed  to  him  when 
he  had  first  met  her,  just  as  she  had  appealed  to 
many  other  men,  through  her  cleverness  and  her 
remarkable  beauty;  but  what  had  fascinated  him 
the  most,  and  what  had  kept  him  true  to  her  in 
thought,  if  not  in  deed,  was  her  unrelenting  qual 
ity — the  fact  that  she  never  excused  a  weakness 
in  herself  or  in  others,  that  she  would  have  no 
compromises,  and  that,  as  he  protested,  she  would 
"  never  let  up  on  him  "  when  he  offered  excuses. 
Whether  it  was  that  in  the  past  she  had  broken 
somebody's  heart,  or  half  a  dozen  hearts,  and  was 
repentant,  or  whether  some  one  had  broken  her 
heart  and  she  was  wise,  he  did  not  know  or  care. 
It  was  not  her  past  which  interested  him,  and 
his  interest  in  her  future  was  problematical.  He 
would  not  go  to  her  unworthily,  and  yet  life  was 
made  so  very  easy  for  him  as  he  was.  He  be 
lieved  that  it  was  this  unrelenting  quality  which 
made  him  regard  her  more  seriously  than  he  did 
other  women,  and  he  thought  that  if  she  should 
ever  fail  him  in  this,  her  great  beauty  and  her 
mind  would  count  for  nothing,  and  she  would  be 
come  to  him  like  any  other  of  the  half-dozen 
women  he  knew  best. 


HIS    BAD    ANGEL  127 

He  was  standing  as  she  entered  the  room,  look 
ing  out  of  the  window,  and  she  noticed  how  tired 
he  looked  and  dissatisfied  and  pale.  Generally 
when  he  met  her  he  came  towards  her  quickly 
enough,  and  held  her  hand  longer  than  was  neces 
sary,  but  to-day  he  simply  turned  and  nodded 
and  smiled  oddly  at  her,  as  though  he  were  rather 
more  curious  to  see  her  than  glad.  So  she  walked 
over  beside  him,  and  they  stood  looking  out  at 
the  carriages  and  hansoms  on  Piccadilly. 

"It  is  very  nice  to  see  you  again,"  she  said. 
"  It  was  just  a  chance — I  saw  your  name  in  large 
red  letters  at  Waterloo  Station  as  we  came  in." 
He  was  regarding  her  intently,  as  though  he  were 
trying  to  recollect  where  he  had  seen  her  before. 
"I  didn't  know  whether  you  could  come  or  not," 
she  went  on.  "  You  are  in  such  demand  now,  they 
tell  me." 

"  Of  course  you  know  very  well,"  he  said,  with 
that  directness  which  was  one  of  his  most  sat 
isfactory  qualities,  "that  I  would  have  come, 
whether  I  had  had  engagements  or  not.  But  I 
had  meant  not  to  come  at  first." 

"  Oh,  you  had  meant  not  to  at  first !"  she-  re 
peated.  She  sat  down  behind  the  tea  things,  and 
began  moving  them  about.  He  seemed  to  her 
to  be  laboring  under  a  mood  or  some  excitement, 
and  she  thought  it  best  to  give  him  time  to  de 
velop  it. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  slowly  and  distinctly,  "  I 
thought  I  would  not  come,  because  I  did  not 


128  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

want  to  introduce  you  to  the  kind  of  man  you 
do  not  care  to  know." 

"  How  tragic!"  she  said.  "May  I  make  you 
some  tea  ?" 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  be  tragic,"  he  went  on,  im 
passively.  "  It  is  quite  true.  I  am  not  at  all  the 
man  you  used  to  know.  No  one  can  know  that 
better  than  I.  And  I  had  so  much  liking  for  you 
— and  for  the  man  you  used  to  know  —  that  I 
thought  it  would  be  kinder  to  us  both  if  I  let  you 
go  home  without  seeing  me  again." 

"  But  you  did  come." 

"Yes,  I  came,"  he  answered,  after  some  mo 
ments'  consideration,  "  because,  I  suppose,  I  still 
believe  in  miracles,  and  because  I  had  a  forlorn 
hope  that  if  I  could  get  a  good  strong  tonic  and 
my  conscience  could  have  an  electric  shock,  it 
might  begin  to  work  again.  It  was  just  a  chance. 
I  hadn't  much  reason  to  believe  it  would." 

She  occupied  herself  for  some  little  time  with 
the  cups  in  front  of  her,  and  said:  "  Of  course  it 
is  very  manly  and  brave  in  you  to  tell  me  this — • 
to  say,  *  Here  I  am  in  a  very  bad  way,  and  if  you 
cannot  help  me  no  one  can.'  That  makes  it  so 
pleasant  for  me.  Of  course  you  have  no  respon 
sibility  in  the  matter  at  all.  It  is  something  you 
cannot  possibly  mend.  What  a  baby  it  is  !" 

"No,"  he  said,  doubtfully,  as  though  he  had 
been  weighing  her  words  and  had  found  them 
wanting,  "  it  is  not  the  least  use.  It  doesn't  hurt 
me  at  all.  It  sounds  like  something  I  had  learned 


HIS    BAD    ANGEL  129 

at  school.  I  had  hoped  it  would.  1  have  gone  so 
far  now,  or  I  have  gone  so  low,  that  I  can  quite 
recognize  the  force  of  all  the  arguments  on  the 
other  side,  and  go  the  wrong  way  without  a 
pang."  He  looked  up  and  smiled.  "It  is  too 
late.  I  am  quite  hopeless. " 

"  You  are  quite  changed,"  she  said,  dryly. 

"Changed!  Thank  you."  He  laughed  un 
pleasantly.  "  That  is  the  mildest  word  any  one 
has  used  yet.  But  I've  really  no  right  to  com 
plain  ;  the  strongest  things  they  say  are  quite 
true." 

"  What  1  all  they  say  ?" 

"  Well,  if  the  particular  stories  they  have  told 
you  are  not  true,  others  equally  discreditable  are. 
It's  the  same  thing." 

She  rested  her  chin  on  the  knuckles  of  her 
hand  and  studied  him  for  some  time.  He  looked 
back  at  her  without  wavering  and  without  in 
terest. 

« I  think/'  she  said,  "  he  has  been  sitting  up 
very  late  at  night,  and  has  not  had  sleep  enough  ; 
he  has  been  playing  and  working  too  hard,  and  he 
has  been  t-aking  himself  too  seriously.  Of  course," 
she  added,  with  the  air  of  one  who  wishes  to  be 
quite  fair, "  there  are  some  things  a  man  must  go 
through  with  which  we  women  go  around." 

"  Thank  you,"  Thorold  said,  grimly.  "  You  are 
very  good,  but  I  have  excuses  enough.  I  can  sup 
ply  them  myself.3' 

The  girl  showed  no  sign  of  annoyance  at  this, 


130  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

but  still  regarded  him  thoughtfully.  "The  omy 
saving  clause  I  see,"  she  said, "  is  your  saying  you 
hoped  something  might  step  in  to  help  you.  Of 
course,  if  a  man  wants  to  be  saved  from  himself 
he  has  won  half  the  fight,  and  he  must  win  the 
other  half,  too.  JSTo  young  woman  is  going  to 
do  it." 

"The  pathetic  part  of  it  is,"  he  answered,  "that 
I  don't  want  to  be  helped  or  to  be  saved.  I  said 
I  did,  but  I  don't,  really.  I  like  it  better  as  it  is. 
And  it  only  makes  it  worse  to  pretend  to  be  any 
better  than  I  am,  and  to  cheat  myself  and  my 
friends  into  thinking  I  am.  A  man  is  no  better 
than  what  he  wishes  to  be  at  his  worst  moment. 
You  cannot  judge  him  by  what  he  happens  to 
want  to  be  when  he  is  worked  up  to  do  great 
things  and  inspired  by  other  people.  I  like  to 
waste  my  time  and  to  have  no  responsibilities, 
and  I  like  dangling  in  boudoirs  better  than  work 
ing,  and  I  like  the  cheap  admiration  of  a  lot  of 
fools  better  than  the  esteem  of  a  few  friends;  and 
I  can't,  for  the  life  of  me,  see  why  I  should  live  a 
lie  to  them  and  myself,  and  cover  up  the  true  bad 
ness  that's  in  me.  And  I  am  not  going  to  any 
longer.  If  I  cared  to  be  fine  and  strong,  it  would 
be  natural  enough  and  easj*-  to  be  so;  and  if  I  don't 
care  for  that,  it  is  only  hypocrisy  and  waste  of 
time  to  be  anything  that  looks  like  it.  I  came 
here  to-day  to  tell  you  this  myself,  so  that  there 
could  be  no  longer  any  doubt  in  your  mind,  and 
I  don't  want  you  to  waste  any  more  thought  or 


HIS    BAD    ANGEL  131 

friendship  on  anyone  as  unworthy  of  both  as  my 
self  I  felt  I  was  deceiving  you,  and  I  wanted  you 
to  know.  That's  why  I  came.  I  never  deceived 
you  before,  and  I  wished  you  to  know — I  want 
you  to  be  disgusted  with  me  and  understand  me 
just  as  I  am.  The  man  you  knew  is  gone,  and 
you—" 

Miss  Ingrain  stood  up,  and  clasped  her  hands 
quickly  in  front  of  her.  "  What  have  I  to  do  with 
it?"  she  said,  coldly.  "You  are  not  answerable 
to  me." 

She  crossed  the  room  to  the  window,  and  then 
faced  him  again.  "Listen  to  me,  Archie," she  said. 
"This  may  be  a  mood  or  a  pose,  or  it  may  be  that 
you  are  only  run  down  and  overworked  and  ner 
vous,  and  are  exaggerating  these  wickednesses  you 
hint  of."  He  was  about  to  interrupt  her,  but  she 
raised  her  hand  for  him  to  let  her  continue.  "But 
you  cannot  afford  to  do  it  too  often.  It  is  not  a 
pretty  pose,  and  were  I  not  a  long-suffering  lady, 
I  would  not  tolerate  it  for  a  moment.  It  takes  all 
the  affection  I  have  for  you  and  all  my  patience 
not  to  accept  you  at  your  word,  and  tell  my  peo 
ple  you  are  not  the  sort  of  young  man  they  should 
allow  their  daughter  to  see.  But  I  think  we  know 
each  other  pretty  well  now,  and  I  think  there  is 
more  overwork  and  late  hours  in  this  than  any 
thing  else.  But  you  cannot  keep  it  up  too  long. 
Bad  habits  are  just  as  hard  to  overcome  at  the 
end  as  good  habits,  and  even  Balzac's  twenty-five 
years  of  virtue  which  cannot  be  overcome  in  a  day, 


132  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

can  be  overcome  in  a  year.  And  if  you  will  live 
in  a  bad  atmosphere  you  cannot  expect  to  be  as 
strong  and  healthy  as  you  would  be  if  you  lived 
in  the  open  air.  I  don't  think  it  is  worse  than 
that.  You  have  allowed  yourself  to  stay  in  a  bad 
atmosphere  which  does  not  agree  with  you.  Don't 
be  afraid  to  run  away.  I  have  a  great  regard  for 
the  man  who  runs  away.  If  you  are  wise,  and  the 
boy  I  know,  you  will  pack  your  things  to-night 
and  sail  with  us  to-morrow,  and  leave  all  these 
women  and  worldly  young  men  behind  you.  Come 
and  play  with  me  on  the  steamer,  and  spend  the 
summer  with  all  your  old  friends  at  the  old  places, 
where  no  one  thinks  you're  a  great  man,  and  where 
you  won't  see  your  picture  in  all  the  shop  win 
dows.  That's  really  what  you  need.  What  do 
you  say  ?"  She  stopped  and  looked  at  him,  but  he 
made  no  response,  and  she  hurried  on,  as  though 
to  cover  up  the  fact  that  she  had  failed  to  move 
him.  "I  can't  understand  some  women, "she  cried, 
impatiently ;  "  they  fall  in  love  with  a  man  be 
cause  he  is  good  and  strong,  and  then  they  at 
once  begin  to  pull  down  the  very  things  they 
most  admire  in  him.  And  I  cannot  understand 
your  sex  either.  You  are  such  v  children.  You 
make  such  problems  and  difficulties  out  of  noth 
ing.  Why,  it  is  as  simple  as  animal  alphabets. 
A  is  an  ape,  and  B  is  a  bear.  That's  all  it  is — 
just  animal  pictures.  There  is  no  question  of 
which  to  choose,  or  there  shouldn't  be,  for  a  man 
like  you.  What  is  the  admiration  of  a  lot  of  silly 


HIS    BAD    ANGEL  133 

women  to  the  friendship  of  such  friends  as  you 
have,  who  care  for  the  best  that  is  in  you  ?  How 
can  you  tell  me  there  is  any  question  about  it — or 
of  which  to  choose  ?" 

Thorold  stood  up  smiling,  and  shook  his  head. 
"  I  tell  you  it  is  no  use,  Alice,"  he  said.  "  I  am 
honestly  not  worth  it.  I've  given  up,  and  I'm 
going  my  own  way.  All  these  things  you  say 
have  lost  their  meaning.  They  don't  reach  me. 
It  is  like  some  one  talking  a  language  I  have  for 
gotten.  You  needn't  think  it  didn't  hurt  at  first 
when  I  saw  which  way  I  was  going,  but  it  doesn't 
hurt  now.  I  like  it,  and  do  it  because  I  like  it, 
and  I  am  not  going  to  pretend  I  don't.  I  am 
pleasing  myself  entirely.  Don't  look  at  me  like 
that.  I'm  not  worth  troubling  about.  I'm  not 
worth  a  thought  from  you,  Alice."  He  stopped, 
and  added,  sharply,  "  Certainly  not  tears." 

"  I'm  not  ashamed  of  my  tears,  if  there  are  any 
in  my  eyes,"  the  girl  answered;  "  but,"  she  added, 
slowly,  "  I  should  think  you  would  be." 

"  I'm  not,"  he  said,  simply.  "  Think  of  it — I'm 
not !  That's  what  I've  come  to.  And  yet,"  he 
added,  with  a  sudden  exclamation,  "  there  was  a 
time  when  every  word  you  spoke  meant — 

"  Stop  !  don't !"  she  said,  breathlessly,  and  hold 
ing  her  hands  before  her,  "  don't !  How  could 
you  ?" 

Thorold  took  a  step  backward  and  bit  his  lip, 
and  so  stood,  with  his  face  flushing,  and  with  his 
eyes  bent  towards  the  floor.  Then  he  raised  his 


134  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER   STORIES 

head  and  smiled  grimly.  "  That,  I  should  think," 
he  said,  "would  convince  you  of  the  truth  of  all 
I  have  said.  I  can't  go  much  lower  than  that,  can 
I?"  He  did  not  look  at  her  again,  but  turned  and 
left  the  room  without  trying  to  take  her  hand  or 
saying  good-bye.  When  he  reached  the  street  he 
stepped  into  a  hansom  at  the  door  and  sank  back 
on  the  cushions  with  a  laugh.  "  That  was  my  last 
chance,"  he  murmured,  grimly.  "It  has  failed, 
and  now  I  can  go  to  the  devil  with  a  perfectly 
clear  conscience."  He  raised  the  lid  of  the  han 
som  with  his  stick.  "  To  St.  John's  Wood,"  he 
said  to  the  driver. 

Miss  Beatrice  or  "Trix"  Gvvynn,  who  lived 
next  door  to  Mrs.  Inness,  out  St.  John's  Wood 
way,  posed  for  the  great  artists  and  all  of  the 
fashionable  photographers.  You  saw  her  repro 
duced  in  many  paintings  at  the  different  exhibi 
tions  as  a  very  English-looking  Greek  maiden, 
with  fluffy  yellow  hair  and  round  baby-like  eyes. 
She  was  very  much  of  a  fool.  She  lived  in  a 
little  house  shut  off  from  the  world  by  a  big  wall, 
and  she  was  understood  to  enjoy  an  income  from 
the  sale  of  her  photographs,  on  which  income  she 
kept  a  brougham.  She  had  two  very  dear  friends, 
the  beautiful  Mrs.  Inness  and  Captain  Cathcart,  a 
very  brave  and  good-natured  but  simple-souled 
gentleman  and  officer  of  the  Inniskillen  Dragoons. 

"I  can't  stop,  thanks,"  Thorold  said.  "I  just 
came  to  see  if  you  and  Cathcart  would  come  in  to 
supper  at  my  rooms  to-night;  and — I  should  be 


HIS    BAD    ANGEL  135 

very  glad  if  you  would  bring  your  friend  Mrs. 
Inness  with  you  ;  that  is,  you  know,  if  she  will 
not  mind  ray  not  knowing  her.  Or  I'll  book  you 
a  box  at  the  piece  to-night,  if  you  like,  and  I'll 
join  you  there.  Perhaps  that  would  be  better, 
and  we  can  make  the  supper  an  after-thought. 
Mrs.  Inness  might  prefer  it  that  way." 

"  Oh,  Mildred  won't  mind,"  said  Miss  Gwynn, 
lazily.  "  She'll  come  if  I  ask  her  ;  and  then,  be 
sides,  she's  just  dotty  to  meet  you.  She  told  me, 
when  I  said  I'd  met  you,  that  she'd  rather — " 

"  Well,  that's  all  right,  then,"  Thorold  inter 
rupted,  hastily.  "  It's  very  good  of  you  to  come. 
Tell  Cathcart  to  ask  for  the  box  as  he  goes  in." 

There  were  several  things  Thorold  had  prom 
ised  himself  if  he  ever  let  everything  go,  and 
now  that  he  had  determined  to  let  everything  go 
he  wanted  to  begin  with  them  at  once,  and  make 
going  back  an  impossibility.  Mrs.  Inness  was 
not  one  of  the  things  he  had  promised  himself, 
but  she  would  serve  as  well  as  another.  He  had 
seen  her  often,  and  had  heard  of  her,  of  course. 
She  was  a  very  beautiful  woman  of  large,  grace 
ful  figure,  who  looked  more  like  an  Italian,  in 
spite  of  her  yellow  hair,  than  an  English  woman, 
and  she  carried  herself  so  well  that  she  should 
have  been  a  duchess  instead  of  what  she  was. 
Her  husband  was,  or  had  been,  an  officer  in  India, 
where  he  had  died,  or  where  she  had  left  him 
still  living :  no  one  of  her  acquaintances  was 
particular  enough  to  know  or  care  which.  She 


136  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

sat  at  Thorold's  right  at  supper,  and  smiled  upon 
him  encouragingly.  She  was  very  much  pleased 
with  everything,  and  assured  him  that  his  chef 
was  as  much  of  a  master  of  his  art  as  his  master 
was  of  his. 

"I  and  my  cook  thank  you,"  said  Thorold, 
gravely. 

"Mildred  always  goes  wrong  when  she  tries  to 
be  grand,"  Miss  Gwynn  whispered  to  Cathcart. 
"  I  tell  her  to  just  sit  still  and  let  them  look,  and 
not  talk." 

Cathcart  laughed  good-naturedly,  and  asked 
Thorold's  servant  over  his  shoulder  to  pass  the 
lobster. 

"  And  now,"  Miss  Beatrice  went  on,  wickedly, 
"she's  telling  him  her  anecdotes  of  the  aristoc 
racy.  That's  the  way  she  always  begins  with  a 
new  man.  She  lays  siege  to  him.  I  don't  bother 
with  'em,  I  don't." 

Cathcart  answered  with  a  heavy  bow  and  a 
whisper,  which  caused  the  young  model  to  wave 
her  fork  at  him  playfully  and  say,  "  Oh,  you,  you 
don't  count." 

Mrs.  Inness  had  tried  several  moves ;  openly 
expressed  admiration  for  his  work  did  not  seem  to 
answer.  Either  Thorold  had  had  a  surfeit  of  it 
or  wanted  it  more  highly  spiced,  for  he  did  not 
seem  to  heed  it.  So  she  adopted  a  politely  fash 
ionable  tone,  and  talked  of  the  great  people  of  the 
hour  and  of  their  escapades,  until  she  suspected 
from  a  light  in  Thorold's  eyes  that  he  was  already 


HIS    BAD    ANGEL  137 

intimately  familiar  with  what  had  come  to  her  at 
second  hand,  and  that  he  knew  it  had  come  to  her 
at  second  hand.  So  she  became  herself,  and  was 
bold  and  amusing  and  daring  and  familiar.  Tho- 
rold  watched  her  without  attempting  to  conceal 
his  admiration,  not  for  her,  but  for  her  beauty, 
which  was  unquestionable.  It  was  of  the  impe 
rious  stamp  that  invited  criticism  because  it  did 
not  fear  it.  He  liked  the  curve  of  her  neck  and 
the  way  it  sat  upon  her  shoulders,  and  the  waves 
of  her  heavy  yellow  hair.  Her  stories  bored  him. 
But  it  seemed  to  him,  now  that  it  was  written 
that  he  was  not  to  appreciate  his  good  angels,  he 
must  make  the  most  of  his  bad  angels,  and  this 
one  was  no  worse  nor  no  better  than  the  rest,  and 
she  was  certainly  wonderfully  good  to  look  at. 
"  If  you  are  ready,"  he  said,  "  we  will  take  the 
coffee  in  the  other  room."  He  brought  it  and  the 
liqueurs  in  himself,  and  sent  his  man  down-stairs. 
It  was  a  darkly  furnished  room,  lit  by  candles 
under  red  shades,  and  strewn  with  furs  and  heavy 
rugs.  It  was  part  of  the  ideal  apartments  of  a 
young  Englishman,  from  whom  Thorold  rented 
it  while  the  owner  was  off  yachting,  and  it  was 
filled  with  the  relics  of  his  former  voyages  and  the 
tributes  of  bazaars  and  bric-a-brac  shops.  There 
were  great  divans  heaped  with  cushions,  and  huge 
leather  chairs,  and  arms,  and  rows  of  miniatures, 
and  blue  and  white  saucers,  and  cabinets  of  ivory 
from  India  filled  with  old  silver  and  pretty  trifles 
from  the  Paris  shops ;  and  the  smart  dinner  gowns 


138  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STOIIIES 

of  the  women  as  they  moved  from  cabinet  to  pict 
ure,  exclaiming  over  the  treasures  of  the  room, 
gave  to  it  just  the  life  and  color  it  most  needed. 

Cathcart  sank  into  one  of  the  big  leather  chairs 
with  a  sigh  of  content.  "  Jolly  sort  of  place  this, 
Thorold,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Inness  poured  out  some  brandy  for  her 
self,  but  Miss  Gwynn  went  back  to  the  dining- 
room,  and  returned  carrying  the  champagne  in 
its  bucket,  and  placed  it  beside  her  on  the  floor. 

"  This  is  Liberty  Hall,  is  it  not  ?"  she  said.  "  I 
fancied  so.  You'd  better  tell  your  man  to  have 
some  more  of  this  ready.  The  captain  and  I 
like  it." 

When  Thorold  returned,  Mrs.  Inness  was  at  the 
piano  playing  the  pas  de  quatre  from  the  Gaiety, 
and  Miss  Gwynn  was  holding  her  skirts  daintily 
and  dancing  in  the  centre  of  the  room.  Cathcart 
laughed  from  the  recesses  of  the  big  chair. 

"  I  tell  her  it's  a  shame  she  doesn't  go  on  the 
stage,  Thorold.  She  can  dance  as  well  as  Lind 
or  Sylvia  Grey  now,  and  she's  only  had  five 
lessons." 

Mrs.  Inness  rose  from  the  piano  in  apparent  con 
fusion.  "  I  don't  know  what  Mr.  Thorold  will 
think  of  our  taking  possession  in  this  way,"  she 
exclaimed. 

"  Oh,  don't  stop,"  said  the  American.  "  It's 
very  pretty." 

But  the  woman  refused.  She  confessed  to  an 
awe  of  her  host  which  she  could  not  explain,  and 


HIS    BAD    ANGEL  139 

which  troubled  her  in  consequence.  She  could 
not  understand  him. 

Thorold  rolled  up  some  of  the  rugs,  leaving  a 
bare  place  on  the  floor,  and  sitting  down  before 
the  piano,  began  a  Spanish  bolero,  to  which  the 
model  danced,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  with 
a  pretty  recklessness  that  left  her  panting,  and 
called  out  a  round  of  applause. 

"  That  was  very  good  indeed,"  Thorold  said. 

"  It  makes  me  dry,"  the  girl  answered.  "  Did 
you  see  about  that  champagne  ?" 

She  went  over  to  one  of  the  little  Turkish  tables 
and  took  a  cigarette  from  a  box  and  lit  it,  blowing 
the  smoke  away  with  a  laugh  of  content.  Tho 
rold  handed  the  box  to  Mrs.  Inness,  but  she  shook 
her  head. 

"  Oh,  go  on,  Mildred.  Don't  be  stiff,"  said  Miss 
Gwynn.  "  We're  all  friends  here." 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Inness,"  Thorold  repeated,  "  we're 
all  friends  here." 

He  smiled  grimly  at  this  as  he  walked  back  into 
the  dining-room  for  the  champagne.  He  was  dis 
tinctly  conscious  that  he  was  not  having  a  good 
time.  He  argued  that  this  was  so  because  the 
impressions  of  the  afternoon  still  hung  upon  him, 
and  that  when  they  had  worn  away  he  would  be 
in  a  more  appreciative  mood.  He  congratulated 
himself  that  there  would  be  no  more  such  scenes 
in  the  future.  Still,  he  was  annoyed  that  his 
guests,  whom  he  himself  had  selected,  should  en 
joy  themselves  and  that  he  should  not.  He  as- 


140  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

sured  himself  that  it  was  not  the  twenty-five  years 
of  virtue  that  was  asserting  itself,  but  that  it  was 
simply  because  the  people  were  vulgar  that  they 
were  unattractive.  He  paused  for  a  moment  in 
the  darkened  room  with  the  bottle  in  his  hand, 
trying  to  analyze  what  it  was  that  was  wrong  in 
him.  From  the  other  room,  beyond  the  portiere, 
came  the  pop  of  a  soda-water  bottle,  and  Miss 
Gwynn's  shrill  laugh  and  Cathcart's  comfortable 
bass.  They  seemed  to  be  making  themselves  very 
much  at  home. 

"  What  a  prig  I  am  !"  Thorold  said,  impatiently. 
He  decided  swiftly  that  he  was  much  too  superior 
a  person,  and  that  if  he  meant  to  enjoy  his  new 
freedom  he  must  crush  the  rising  protests  of  past 
tastes  and  traditions  and  give  himself  to  the  pres 
ent.  He  came  into  the  room  smiling. 

"Sing  us  something,  Miss  Gwynn,"  he  said. 

Miss  Gwynn  demurred,  shyly.  "I  wouldn't 
dare,  before  you,"  she  said  ;  and  then,  to  show 
how  little  she  meant  this,  she  sat  down  and  ran 
her  fingers  over  the  keys  of  the  piano, 
sing  you  something  of  Ivette  Guilbert's,"  she 
said,  over  her  shoulder.  "  My  French  is  beastly, 
but  I  have  to  sing  them  in  French,  so  that  Cath- 
cart  won't  understand." 

"  Oh,  don't,  Trix,"  said  Mrs.  Inness.    "  They're 

so  low." 

Thorold  caught  himself  smiling  at  this,  and  to 
find  that  Mrs.  Inness  had  her  own  ideas  of  pro 
priety.  Then  he  corrected  himself,  mentally  for 


HIS    BAD    ANGEL  141 

still  criticising  and  posing  as  a  superior  being. 
He  was  sick  and  disgusted  with  it  all  and  with 
himself.  The  girl  at  the  piano  was  singing  with 
none  of  Guilbert's  innocence  of  manner,  but  was 
giving  each  line  its  full  meaning.  Mrs.  Inness 
laughed,  and  looked  consciously  at  the  floor  ; 
Cathcart  approved  doubtfully,  and  suggested  as 
a  compromise  a  song  from  the  music-halls. 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Gwynn  ;  "  I've  been  funny 
long  enough.  Let  Thorold  play  something.  I 
want  to  be  audience  now." 

"  Oh,  do,  Mr.  Thorold,"  said  Mrs.  Inness,  effu 
sively. 

"  Play  us  a  lot  of  things,"  said  the  model  — 
"  the  things  you  play  to  the  swells." 

Cathcart  scrambled  out  of  the  arm-chair.  "I 
say,  Thorold,"  he  said,  "  if  you  wouldn't  mind, 
I'd  like  it  awfully  if  you'd  sing  that  '  Well  of 
Truth.'  I'd  like  to  hear  you  do  it  yourself.  I'd 
like  to  say  I'd  heard  you." 

Every  instinct  and  taste  of  which  Thorold  was 
possessed  was  offended  and  rose  in  rebellion  as 
they  spoke  to  him.  He  hated  them,  and  he  hated 
himself  for  having  brought  them  to  this  room. 
The  wickedness  of  Mayfair  and  not  of  Bohemia, 
he  determined,  would  be  his  dissipation  in  the 
future.  He  could  at  least  choose  his  associates, 
as  heretofore,  and  he  was  not  unmindful  that 
there  were  those  of  his  own  class  a  little  more 
wicked  than  Mrs.  Inness,  if  not  so  beautiful. 
"  What  a  child  I  am  !"  he  exclaimed.  He  reit- 


142  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

erated  to  himself  that  he  had  chosen  his  own 
way.  The  best  and  strongest  help  for  good  that 
had  ever  come  into  his  life  had,  so  he  believed, 
failed  him,  had  ceased  to  move  him  that  very  day; 
and  he  thought,  in  his  inexperience,  that  what  he 
needed  now  was  to  make  going  back,  or  the 
thought  of  going  back,  an  impossibility. 

And  then  there  came  to  him  an  inspiration. 
In  the  three  months  in  which  the  Puritan  con 
science  and  the  artistic  temperament  had  been 
struggling  for  the  mastery  he  had  written  and 
composed  the  music  for  a  song.  He  called  it 
"  The  Days  that  are  Gone."  The  song  was  the 
expression  of  all  that  had  been  going  on  in  his 
mind  ;  it  meant  to  him  the  story  of  what  he  had 
gone  through,  and  through  which  he  was  still 
going — all  that  he  had  lost,  all  his  doubts,  and 
regret  for  what  was  lost.  He  had  not  sung  it  to 
any  one.  He  had  even  locked  the  doors  when  he 
sang  it  alone  ;  for  it  had  been  written  when  he 
was  feeling  more  deeply  than  he  had  ever  felt 
before,  and  he  guarded  it  for  that  reason,  even 
while  his  artistic  judgment  assured  him  that  it 
was,  as  a  work  of  art,  the  strongest  thing  he  had 
ever  written.  It  seemed  to  him  now  that  if  he 
could  bring  himself  to  sing  that  song  to  these 
people  he  would  shame  the  best  that  was  in  him 
and  the  best  that  had  ever  come  from  him,  that 
he  would  mock  the  thing  that  meant  most  to 
him,  and  that  if  he  cast  it  before  these  swine  no 
other  sentiment  or  principle  or  tradition  of  his  life 


HIS    BAD    ANGEL  143 

could  lay  claim  to  recognition.  He  turned  impul 
sively  towards  his  guests,  smiling  strangely. 

"  I  want  you  to  hear  a  new  song  I've  written. 
It's  not  a  funny  song  ;  it's  rather  the  other  way. 
It's  about  some  one,  a  man  or  a  woman,  who  — 
However,  I'll  sing  it,  and  then  you'll  know  what 
it's  about.  I'll  sing  you  some  funny  ones  after  I 
have  finished  it." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  delighted  interest,  and 
a  rustle  of  silks  as  the  women  settled  themselves 
to  listen. 

"  Wait  till  I  get  a  light,  will  you  ?"  said  Cath- 
cart.  He  reached  out  of  the  recesses  of  the  chair, 
and  leaning  forward  to  one  of  the  little  tables, 
struck  a  match. 

Thorold  placed  his  own  cigar  carefully  on  the 
glass  rim  of  one  of  the  candles  beside  the  music- 
rack,  and,  as  he  waited,  turned  a  smiling  coun 
tenance  upon  his  audience.  The  soldier's  red- 
bronzed  face  was  showing  in  the  light  of  the 
flaring  wax  ;  it  was  content,  and  marked  with 
pleasurable  anticipation.  On  the  floor  at  his  side 
Miss  Gwynn  had  thrown  one  of  the  cushions, 
and  had  seated  herself  upon  it,  leaning  her  head 
against  the  arm  of  Cathcart's  chair.  She  smiled 

O 

up  brightly  at  Thorold  as  he  looked  at  her,  and 
posed  herself  in  an  attitude  that  might  have  been 
titled  "  Expectancy  "  or  "  Waiting,"  as  though 
she  felt  the  eye  of  the  artist  or  of  the  camera 
upon  her.  In  the  centre  of  the  room  Mrs.  Inness 
sat,  or  rather  reclined,  on  the  broad  arm  of  one 


144  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

of  the  big  leather  chairs,  leaning  back,  with  one 
bare  arm  thrown  behind  her  head,  and  with  the 
other  holding  a  glass,  which  she  rested  lightly  on 
her  knee.  Her  attitude  showed  her  figure  and 
almost  every  line  of  her  body,  from  the  point  of 
her  slippered  toe,  with  which  she  tapped  the  floor, 
to  the  top  of  her  well  -  poised  head.  It  was  a 
graceful,  indolent,  and  obviously  meditated  pose, 
which  Thorold  observed  with  cynical  approval. 
The  woman,  catching  his  eye,  raised  the  glass 
from  her  knee,  and  bent  her  head  gracefully, 
smiling  as  she  did  so  with  half  -  closed  eyes. 
Thorold  laughed  shortly,  and  struck  the  opening 
chord  of  his  song.  The  words  could  have  been 
sung  by  either  a  man  or  a  woman.  It  began  by 
telling  of  the  days  of  the  past,  the  days  that  were 
gone ;  and  the  accompaniment  suggested  the 
brightness  of  sunshine  and  of  running  streams 
and  rustling  leaves,  of  the  "lost  Eden  of  our 
innocence  "  and  of  sweet  content ;  then  it  merged 
suddenly  into  braver  and  more  powerful  strains 
as  the  words  spoke  of  ambitions  and  hopes  and  of 
great  deeds  for  the  life  in  the  future. 

Thorold  had  a  very  good  voice,  full  of  dra 
matic  feeling  and  power,  and  every  word  he  sang 
came  to  the  listener's  ear  bearing  its  proper  em 
phasis  as  sharp  and  sure  as  the  lines  of  an  actor's 
soliloquy. 

He  began  contemptuously,  but  the  artist  in 
him  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  do  aught  else 
but  sing  the  song  well.  The  music  changed  to 


HIS    BAD    ANGEL  145 

low  mutterings,  and  the  words  told  of  doubts  and 
trouble,  and  then  broke  out  into  passionate  regret 
and  agony  of  spirit.  One  could  almost  see  the 
beads  of  sweat  upon  the  face  of  the  suppliant. 
It  was  a  cry  for  peace  and  rest,  and  return  to  the 
quiet  streams  and  gentle  shade.  Thorold  had 
forgotten  himself  and  his  audience.  His  voice 
rose  and  met  the  rising  wail  of  the  music  ;  it  told 
of  wasted  days,  of  unresting  and  feverish  search- 
ings  for  happiness  and  relief  from  thought,  of 
the  sting  of  dead  desires,  and  of  the  mockery  of 
pleasure.  The  music  grew  in  volume,  and  filled 
the  room  with  a  great  cry  of  mourning,  eerie, 
awful,  and  despairing.  Hopelessness  and  remorse 
were  the  meaning  of  the  music  and  of  the  words 
—  the  impotent  cry  for  the  days  that  could  not 
come  again,  the  futile  regret  for  the  chances 
that  had  passed  and  that  had  not  been  taken ; 
and  then  the  voice  of  the  singer  sank  and  died 
away  with  one  low  deep  cry,  as  though  despair 
ing  of  succor  or  relief,  without  faith  and  with 
out  hope,  and  the  music  running  on  ended  in  a 
wild  crash  that  sounded  like  the  laughter  of  those 
already  lost,  mocking  at  those  just  fallen.  The 
room  was  strangely  silent. 

Thorold  reached  for  his  cigar  and  relit  it  at  the 
candle.  He  puffed  it  back  into  a  flame  again, 
and  then,  as  no  one  moved,  turned  slowly  tow 
ards  his  guests.  Cathcart  sat  just  as  he  had 
last  noticed  him,  leaning  forward  with  the  half- 
burned  match  still  in  his  hand.  He  had  not  moved. 


146  THE    EXILES,   AND    OTHER    STORIES 

His  shoulders  were  stooped,  and  he  was  staring 
out  across  the  half-lit  room  with  a  pitiful,  uncom 
prehending  look  in  his  eyes  like  that  of  a  child 
in  trouble.  The  fat  fingers  that  held  his  cigar 
trembled  on  his  knees. 

The  girl  at  his  feet  was  staring  up  at  Thorold 
with  wide-open  eyes,  pleading  and  terrified.  Her 
lips  were  quivering.  And  then  as  Thorold  smiled 
she  did  the  only  natural  thing  she  had  ever  done  in 
her  short,  silly,  artificial  life,  and,  turning  swiftly, 
threw  herself  across  Cathcart's  knees  and  burst 
into  a  wild  torrent  of  tears. 

Thorold  sprang  up  with  an  exclamation  that 
was  half  anger  and  half  apology.  He  turned 
towards  the  older  woman  of  the  two  for  some  ex 
planation,  and  then  sank  back  again  slowly  be 
fore  the  piano.  Mrs.  Inness  had  not  altered  her 
position,  but  the  meaning,  languishing  smile  was 
gone,  and  had  changed  to  one  of  frank,  open- 
eyed  amusement.  She  was  looking  at  him  as 
though  she  had  known  him  for  a  long  time  in  the 
past,  but  as  though  he  had  but  just  then  disclosed 
himself.  Her  awe  of  .him  that  he  himself  had 
noticed  earlier  in  the  evening  had  fallen  from 
her  like  a  cloak,  and  she  was  smiling  at  him 
familiarly  and  with  a  look  of  perfect  understand 
ing  arid  equality.  Thorold  turned  away  his  eyes 
and  struck  the  keys  resentfully.  What  had  this 
woman  to  do  with  him  ?  Mrs.  Inness  rose  leisure 
ly,  and  swept  smiling  across  the  room  towards 
him.  She  leaned  one  bare  elbow  on  the  piano, 


HIS    BAD    ANGEL  147 

and  placed  the  band  of  the  other  arm  on  her  hip 
with  the  arm  akimbo  and  her  head  thrown  back. 
In  her  right  hand  she  he.d  the  glass,  and  with 
the  forefinger  of  the  same  hand  she  pointed  at 
Thorold.  She  was  not  a  very  tall  woman,  but 
she  seemed  to  tower  above  him  as  he  sat  looking 
up  at  her,  his  fingers  wandering  over  the  keys. 
Her  attitude  was  too  easy  to  be  graceful,  and  to 
Thorold  it  seemed  to  have  a  touch  of  menace  in 
it  and  of  insolence.  She  nodded  her  head  at  him, 
smiling  strangely  between  half-closed  eyelids. 

"  And  you,"  she  said  at  last,  speaking  slowly, 
and  smiling  with  each  word,  "you're  Archibald 
Thorold,  are  you  ?  You're  the  man  who  wrote 
'  The  Well  of  Truth,'  and  the  oratorios,  and  those 
operas  the  curates  go  to  see.  What  a  jolly  fraud 
you  are !"  She  laughed  easily,  and  touched  the 
glass  to  her  lips,  and  then  pushed  it  away  from 
her  across  the  piano.  "  You're  the  man  who  writes 
the  songs  the  little  girls  cry  over,  all  about  Love 
and  the  Ideal.  Oh,  I  know  !  I've  sung  them  and 
cried  over  them,  too.  And  now  here  you  are,  just 
like  anybody  else  —  aren't  you  ?  Just  an  every 
day,  common,  ordinary  man." 

Thorold  pressed  heavily  on  the  keys  beneath 
his  fingers.  "I  do  not  think,  Mrs.  Inness,"  he 
said,  stiffly,  "  that  I  ever  posed  as  being  anything 
else." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  the  woman  went  on,  easily. 
"Perhaps  not.  But  why  aren't  you  different? 
Why  are  you  just  like  all  the  other  Johnnies?" 


148  THE    EXILES,   AND    OTHER    STORIES 

She  rested  her  chin  on  the  palm  of  her  hand,  and 
looked  into  his  with  frank,  wide-open  eyes.  And 
yet  Thorold  doubted  her  frankness,  and  looked 
up  at  her  uneasily. 

"I  don't  think  I  understand  you,"  he  said,  with 
severe  politeness. 

"  Oh  yes,  you  do,"  she  laughed,  lightly.  "  You 
know  you're  not  like  them.  I  don't  mean  your 
being  a  swell,  but  the  rest  of  it."  She  turned 
and  pointed  her  hand  towards  the  corner  where 
Cathcart  sat  in  the  semi-darkness  patting  the  girl's 
curls  as  they  rested  on  his  knee.  She  had  sobbed 
herself  to  sleep,  or  was  pretending  to  sleep,  and 
the  man  was  puffing  softly  on  his  cigar  and  look 
ing  down  at  her.  "  You  see,"  said  Mrs.  Inness, 
"  if  you're  able  to  make  Cathcart  look  as  though 
he  had  seen  a  ghost,  and  to  send  Beatrice  Gwynn 
off  into  hysterics  with  remorse,  you  must  be  dif 
ferent  from  most  Johnnies.  And  you've  made 
me  cry  many  a  time.  And  I  know  a  girl,  a  sick 
girl,  down  in  Kent.  I  used  to  play  and  sing  your 
songs  to  her  when  I  was  down  there,  and  she — 
well ! — she  thinks  you're  a  gilded  saint." 

"  Drop  it,  will  you  !"  Thorold  said.  He  half 
rose  from  the  chair,  but  the  woman  touched  him 
familiarly  on  the  shoulder  and  pushed  him  down. 

"No;  you  listen  to  me,"  she  said.  Her  eyes 
were  brilliant,  and  she  had  ceased  smiling.  "  I 
want  to  talk  to  you;  I've  wanted  to  know  you  for 
a  long  time.  Why,"  she  said,  laughing  uneasily, 
u  I've  got  a  dozen  pictures  of  you  in  my  house 


HIS    BAD    ANGEL  149 

now:  I  sent  to  the  States  for  them.  Yes,  I  did; 
and  I'm  no  more  keen  about  you  than  a  lot  more 
of  other  women  I  know.  I've  thought  if  I  could 
meet  a  man  like  you — I  mean,  you  know,"  she  ex 
plained,  "the  sort  of  man  I  thought  you  were — 
that  things  would  be  better,  or  worse,  for  it.  You 
see,"  she  said,  laughing  unmirthfully,  "you  never 
know  just  who  is  counting  on  you  in  this  world — 
do  you  ?  A  chap  like  you  has  responsibilities ; 
but  you're  quite  right  to  shove  them  over.  You 
have  a  livelier  time,  I  fancy — don't  you  ? — than 
if  you  bothered  with  them."  She  stopped  and 
looked  down,  with  her  lips  pressed  together,  and 
breathing  heavily.  "But  it's  hard  on  the  others 
sometimes  —  on  that  sick  girl  I  was  telling  you 
about,  for  instance.  I  guess  if  she  knew,  it  would 
about  kill  her.  And  it's  hard  on  me."  Thorold's 
cigar  was  out,  and  the  candles  on  either  side  of  the 
piano  had  sunk  to  their  sockets,  and  were  sputter 
ing  in  wavering,  uncertain  flashes.  "  That's  what 
you  did  for  me,"  the  woman  went  on,  bitterly. 
Her  voice  chilled  Thorold  as  -it  came  from  above 
like  the  falling  of  cold  rain  upon  his  bare  head. 
"  I  counted  on  you,"  she  said.  "  I  used  to  think 
that  as  long  as  there  was  one  man  left  who  be 
lieved  in  us  we  weren't  so  bad,  that  there  was  a 
chance  of  our  getting  better  or  our  getting  back. 
I've  sung  those  songs  of  yours,  and  they  sort  of 
comforted  me.  They  made  me  feel  there  was 
something  good  in  me  too,  and  I  could  have  loved 
the  man  who  made  me  feel  that,  the  man  who 


250  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

wrote  those  songs,  if  I  had  met  him.  I  could 
have  done  anything  for  him — anything.  I'd  have 
been  —  different  for  him  if  he  had  wanted  me 
to,  and  now — now  I  can't."  Her  voice  had  risen 
suddenly,  but  she  lowered  it  again  into  a  sharp, 
fierce  whisper.  "  I  can't.  Now  that  I've  met 
you  I  can't.  I  wish  I'd  never  seen  you.  I'd 
rather  be  a  fool,  believing  there  was  one  man  who 
was  different — different  from  all  the  rest  of  you. 
I  hate  you  !"  she  whispered  ;  "I  hate  you  !  I'd 
made  so  much  of  you.  I  counted  on  you  so,  and 
you're  no  better  than  Cathcart  there  —  not  so 
good,  for  he  doesn't  preach  one  thing  and  live 
another.  He  doesn't  pretend  to  be  any  better 
than  he  is — and  you,  oh!  you — you  don't  want  to 
be  as  good  as  you  are.  You've  fooled  them  all — 
haven't  you  ?  You've  been  very  clever.  Aren't 
you  pleased  with  it  ?  Aren't  you  proud  ?"  Her 
voice  broke  with  a  sob,  and  she  turned  swiftly 
away  and  swept  out  of  the  room  into  the  hall  be 
yond. 

Thorold  sat  quite  motionless.  His  head  was 
bent,  and  his  fingers  still  rested  on  the  silent  keys. 
All  he  had  ever  said  to  himself,  or  all  that  others 
had  said  to  him,  had  never  come  to  him  as  had 
the  words  of  this  woman,  whose  name  was  "as 
common  as  the  Paris  road,"  and  whom  he  had  de 
spised  himself  for  admiring,  even  while  he  pitied 
her.  He  was  sore,  bruised,  and  sick,  as  though  he 
had  been  pelted  with  stones  and  pointed  at  on  a 
pillory.  Outside,  the  birds  in  the  Park  across  the 


HIS    BAD    ANGEL  151 

street  were  chirping  violently,  and  the  early  sun 
came  stealing  between  the  cracks  of  the  blinds 
into  the  smoke-laden  room. 

Thorold  rose  stiffly  and  uncertainly,  as  though 
he  had  been  sitting  there  a  very  long  time,  and 
followed  her. 

A  tall  white  figure,  muffled  and  unrecognizable, 
confronted  him  in  the  gray  half-light  of  the  hall. 
"Well?"  she  .said. 

Thorold  went  to  the  door  and  threw  it  open,  let 
ting  in  the  sunlight,  and  giving  them  a  strangely 
foreign  and  unfair^liar  air.  It  was  as  if  the  night 
just  over  were  far  back  in  the  past. 

"  Mrs.  Inness,"  he  said,  "  you  won't  understand 
me,  I  am  afraid.  But  I  want  you  to  know  that, 
though  I  have  disappointed  you,  you  have  helped 
me  a  great  deal.  I  think  I  owe  it  to  you  to  tell 
you  this.  We  never  know,  as  you  say,  how  much 
we  depend  on  others,  and  we  can  never  tell  from 
what  source  that  help  we  most  need  will  come." 

"I  don't  understand,"  the  woman  said. 

"Never  mind,"  Thorold  answered,  gently.  "It 
is  something  that  you  have  helped  another,  is  it 
not  ?" 

Cathcart  and  the  girl  came  into  the  hall,  and 
Cathcart  stepped  into  the  street  and  beckoned  to 
the  line  of  hansoms  drawn  up  by  the  railings  un 
der  the  overhanging  branches  of  the  Park. 

"I'm  sorry  I  made  such  an  ass  of  myself,  Tho 
rold,"  the  soldier  said,  "but  that  song  of  yours 
was  a  bit  creepy,  now,  wasn't  it  ?" 


152  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

The  model  stretched  a  slim  white  hand  out  from 
the  mass  of  swan's-down,  and  as  Thorold  took  it 
in  his  own,  she  stooped  and  kissed  his  hand,  and 
then  ran  down  the  steps,  laughing,  to  where  Cath- 
cart  stood  waiting  beside  the  hansom.  Thorold 
helped  Mrs.  Inness  into  the  next,  and  gave  her 
number  to  the  driver,  but  she  called  to  him  to 
wait.  She  pushed  the  doors  away  and  leaned 
forward,  gathering  the  cloak  up  about  her  bare 
throat. 

"  You  are  angry  with  me,"  she  said.  Her  eyes 
were  wet  and  pleading.  "  You  will  never  forgive 
me.  I  don't  know  why  I  spoke  as  I  did.  I  was 
a  fool — because  I  don't  want  you  to  hate  me.  I 
want  you  to  forgive  me,  and  come  to  see  me,  in 
spite  of  all  I  said." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  forgive,  Mrs.  Inness,"  Tho 
rold  answered,  earnestly.  "I  tell  you,  you  have 
done  me  a  great  service.  You  have  helped  me 
very  much." 

"  Oh,  I  know,"  she  interrupted,  impatiently. 
"  You  say  that,  but  you  are  angry.  Don't  think 
of  what  I  said.  Forget  it  and  forgive  me,  and 
come  and  see  me." 

Thorold  smiled.  He  could  not  help  it,  for  the 
way  seemed  so  clear  now. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  he  said,  "  but  really  I  can't. 
You  see,  I'm  leaving  town.  I  sail  for  America 
this  morning  with  some  friends  from  Southamp 
ton." 

The  woman  sank  back  against  the  cushions, 


HIS    BAD    ANGEL  153 

with  her  face  hid  from  him  in  the  high  collar  of 
her  cloak.  Thorold  stood  motionless  upon  the 
curb,  watching  the  hansom  as  it  swept  away, 
echoing  down  the  empty,  sunlit  street.  When  it 
had  disappeared,  he  turned  slowly  and  walked 
back  soberly  into  the  darkened  rooms.  The  can 
dles  were  still  burning,  and  the  empty  bottles  and 
the  ashes  of  half -burned  cigars  lay  scattered  over 
the  floor  and  tables.  Thorold  opened  the  blinds, 
letting  in  the  sunlight  upon  the  disorder  and  de 
bris  of  the  night  just  over.  He  surveyed  the  room 
curiously,  and  for  the  last  time.  "And  it  was 
here,"  he  said,  gravely,  "that  I  entertained  an 
angel  unawares." 


THE  BOY  ORATOU  OF  ZEPATA  CITY 

THE  day  was  cruelly  hot,  with  unwarranted 
gusts  of  wind  which  swept  the  red  dust  in  fierce 
eddies  in  at  one  end  of  Main  Street  and  out  at  the 
other,  and  waltzed  fantastically  across  the  prairie. 
When  they  had  passed,  human  beings  opened  their 
eyes  again  to  blink  hopelessly  at  the  white  sun, 
and  swore  or  gasped,  as  their  nature  moved  them. 
There  were  very  few  human  beings  in  the  streets, 
either  in  Houston  Avenue,  where  there  were  dwell 
ing-houses,  or  in  the  business  quarter  on  Main 
Street.  They  were  all  at  the  new  court-house, 
and  every  one  possessed  of  proper  civic  pride  was 
either  in  the  packed  court-room  itself,  or  standing 
on  the  high  steps  outside,  or  pacing  the  long, 
freshly  kalsomined  corridors,  where  there  was 
shade  and  less  dust.  It  was  an  eventful  day  in  the 
history  of  Zepata  City.  The  court-house  had  been 
long  in  coming,  the  appropriation  had  been  denied 
again  and  again;  but  at  last  it  stood  a  proud  and 
hideous  fact,  like  a  gray  prison,  towering  above 
the  bare,  undecorated  brick  stores  and  the  frame 
houses  on  the  prairie  around  it,  new,  raw,  and 
cheap,  from  the  tin  statue  on  the  dome  to  the 
stucco  round  its  base  already  cracking  with  the 


THE    BOY    ORATOR    OF   ZEPATA    CITY          155 

sun.  Piles  of  lumber  and  scaffolding  and  the  lime 
beds  the  builders  had  left  still  lay  on  the  unsodded 
square,  and  the  bursts  of  wind  drove  the  shavings 
across  it,  as  they  had  done  since  the  first  day  of 
building,  when  the  Hon.  Horatio  Macon,  who  had 
worked  for  the  appropriation,  had  laid  the  corner 
stone  and  received  the  homage  of  his  constituents. 

It  seemed  a  particularly  happy  and  appropriate 
circumstance  that  the  first  business  in  the  new 
court-room  should  be  of  itself  of  an  important  and 
momentous  nature,  something  that  dealt  not  only 
with  the  present  but  with  the  past  of  Zepata,  and 
that  the  trial  of  so  celebrated  an  individual  as  Abe 
Barrow  should  open  the  court-house  with  eclat,  as 
Emma  Abbott,  who  had  come  all  the  way  from 
San  Antonio  to  do  it,  had  opened  the  new  opera- 
house  the  year  before.  The  District  Attorney  had 
said  it  would  not  take  very  long  to  dispose  of 
Barrow's  case,  but  he  had  promised  it  would  be  an 
interesting  if  brief  trial,  and  the  court-room  was 
filled  even  to  the  open  windows,  where  men  sat 
crowded  together,  with  the  perspiration  running 
down  their  faces,  and  the  red  dust  settling  and 
turning  white  upon  their  shoulders. 

Abe  Barrow,  the  prisoner,  had  been  as  closely 
associated  with  the  early  history  of  Zepata  as 
Colonel  Macon  himself,  and  was  as  widely  known; 
he  had  killed  in  his  day  several  of  the  Zepata 
citizens,  and  two  visiting  brother-desperadoes,  and 
the  corner  where  his  gambling-house  had  stood 
was  still  known  as  Barrow's  Corner,  to  the  regret 


156  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

of  the  druggist  who  had  opened  a  shop  there. 
Ten  years  before,  the  murder  of  Deputy-Sheriff 
Welsh  had  led  him  to  the  penitentiary,  and  a 
month  previous  to  the  opening  of  the  new  court 
house  he  had  been  freed,  and  arrested  at  the  prison 
gate  to  stand  trial  for  the  murder  of  Hubert 
Thompson.  The  fight  with  Thompson  had  been 
a  fair  fight  —  so  those  said  who  remembered  it  — 
and  Thompson  was  a  man  they  could  well  spare; 
but  the  case  against  Barrow  had  been  prepared 
during  his  incarceration  by  the  new  and  youthful 
District  Attorney,  "  Judge  "  Henry  Harvey,  and 
as  it  offered  a  fitting  sacrifice  for  the  dedication 
of  the  new  temple  of  justice,  the  people  were  satis 
fied  and  grateful. 

The  court-room  was  as  bare  of  ornament  as  the 
cell  from  which  the  prisoner  had  just  been  taken. 
There  was  an  imitation  walnut  clock  at  the  back 
of  the  Judge's  hair-cloth  sofa,  his  revolving  chair, 
and  his  high  desk.  This  was  the  only  ornament. 
Below  was  the  green  table  of  the  District  Attor 
ney,  upon  which  rested  his  papers  and  law-books 
and  his  high  hat.  To  one  side  sat  the  jury,  ranch- 
owners  and  prominent  citizens,  proud  of  having  to 
serve  on  this  the  first  day;  and  on  the  other  the 
prisoner  in  his  box.  Around  them  gathered  the 
citizens  of  Zepata  in  close  rows,  crowded  together 
on  unpainted  benches;  back  of  them  more  citizens 
standing  and  a  few  awed  Mexicans;  and  around 
all  the  whitewashed  walls.  Colonel  John  Stogart, 
of  Dallas,  the  prisoner's  attorney,  procured  obvi- 


THE    BOY    ORATOR    OF    ZEPATA    CITY  157 

ously  at  great  expense,  no  one  knew  by  whom, 
and  Barrow's  wife,  a  thin  yellow-faced  woman  in 
a  mean-fitting  showy  gown,  sat  among  the  local 
celebrities  at  the  District  Attorney's  elbow.  She 
was  the  only  woman  in  the  room. 

Colonel  Stogart's  speech  had  been  good.  The 
citizens  were  glad  it  had  been  so  good ;  it  had  kept 
up  the  general  tone  of  excellence,  and  it  was  well 
that  the  best  lawyer  of  Dallas  should  be  present 
on  this  occasion,  and  that  he  should  have  made 
what  the  citizens  of  Zepata  were  proud  to  believe 
was  one  of  the  efforts  of  his  life.  As  they  said, 
a  court-house  such  as  this  one  was  not  open  for 
business  every  day.  It  was  also  proper  that  Judge 
Truax,  who  was  a  real  Judge,  and  not  one  by 
courtesy  only,  as  was  the  young  District  Attorney, 
should  sit  upon  the  bench.  He  also  was  associ 
ated  with  the  early  days  and  with  the  marvellous 
growth  of  Zepata  City.  He  had  taught  the  young 
District  Attorney  much  of  what  he  knew,  and  his 
long  white  hair  and  silver-rimmed  spectacles  gave 
dignity  and  the  appearance  of  calm  justice  to  the 
bare  room  and  to  the  heated  words  of  the  rival 
orators. 

Colonel  Stogart  ceased  speaking,  and  the  District 
Attorney  sucked  in  his  upper  lip  with  a  nervous 
impatient  sigh  as  he  recognized  that  the  visiting 
attorney  had  proved  murder  in  the  second  degree, 
and  that  an  execution  in  the  jail-yard  would  not 
follow  as  a  fitting  sequence. 

But  he  was  determined  that  so  far  as  in  him  lay 


158  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

he  would  at  least  send  his  man  back  to  the  peni 
tentiary  for  the  remainder  of  his  life. 

Young  Harry  Harvey,  "The  Boy  Orator  of 
Zepata  City,"  as  he  was  called,  was  very  dear  to 
the  people  of  that  booming  town.  In  their  eyes 
he  was  one  of  the  most  promising  young  men  in 
the  whole  great  unwieldy  State  of  Texas,  and  the 
boy  orator  thought  they  were  probably  right,  but 
he  was  far  too  clever  to  let  them  see  it.  He  was 
clever  in  his  words  and  in  his  deeds  and  in  his  ap 
pearance.  And  he  dressed  much  more  carefully 
than  any  other  man  in  town,  with  a  frock-coat  and 
a  white  tie  winter  and  summer,  and  a  fine  high  hat. 
That  he  was  slight  and  short  of  stature  was  some 
thing  he  could  not  help,  and  was  his  greatest, 
keenest  regret,  and  that  Napoleon  was  also  short 
and  slight  did  not  serve  to  satisfy  him  or  to  make 
his  regret  less  continual.  What  availed  the  sharply 
cut,  smoothly  shaven  face  and  the  eyes  that  flashed 
when  he  was  moved,  or  the  bell-like  voice,  if  every 
unlettered  ranchman  or  ranger  could  place  both 
hands  on  his  shoulders  and  look  down  at  him  from 
heights  above?  But  they  forgot  this  and  he  for 
got  it  before  he  had  reached  the  peroration  of  his 
closing  speech.  They  saw  only  the  Harry  Harvey 
they  knew  and  adored  moving  and  rousing  them 
with  his  voice,  trembling  with  indignation  when 
he  wished  to  tremble,  playing  all  his  best  tricks 
in  his  best  manner,  and  cutting  the  air  with  sharp, 
cruel  words  when  he  was  pleased  to  be  righteously 
just. 


THE    BOY    ORATOR    OF    ZEPATA    CITY  159 

The  young  District  Attorney  turned  slowly  on 
his  heels,  and  swept  the  court-room  carelessly  with 
a  glance  of  the  clever  black  eyes.  The  moment 
was  his.  He  saw  all  the  men  he  knew — the  men 
who  made  his  little  world — crowding  silently  for 
ward,  forgetful  of  the  heat,  of  the  suffocating 
crush  of  those  about  them,  of  the  wind  that  rattled 
the  doors  in  the  corridors,  and  conscious  only  of 
him.  He  saw  his  old  preceptor  watching  keenly 
from  the  bench,  with  a  steady  glance  of  perfect 
appreciation,  such  as  that  with  which  one  actor  in 
the  box  compliments  the  other  on  the  stage.  He 
saw  the  rival  attorney — the  great  lawyer  from  the 
great  city — nervously  smiling,  with  a  look  of  confi 
dence  that  told  the  lack  of  it;  and  he  saw  the  face 
of  the  prisoner  grim  and  set  and  hopelessly  defiant. 
The  boy  orator  allowed  his  uplifted  arm  to  fall 
until  the  fingers  pointed  at  the  prisoner. 

"  This  man,"  he  said,  and  as  he  spoke  even  the 
wind  in  the  corridors  hushed  for  the  moment,  "  is 
no  part  or  parcel  of  Zepata  City  of  to-day.  He 
comes  to  us  a  relic  of  the  past — a  past  that  has 
brought  honor  to  many,  wealth  to  some,  and 
which  is  dear  to  all  of  us  who  love  the  completed 
purpose  of  their  work  ;  a  past  that  was  full  of 
hardships  and  glorious  efforts  in  the  face  of  daily 
disappointments,  embitterments,  and  rebuffs.  But 
the  part  this  man  played  in  that  past  lives  only  in 
the  rude  court  records  of  that  day,  in  the  tradi 
tions  of  the  gambling-hell  and  the  saloons,  and  on 
the  head -stones  of  his  victims.  He  was  one  of 


160  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

the  excrescences  of  that  unsettled  period,  an  un 
happy  evil  —  an  inevitable  evil,  I  might  almost 
say,  as  the  Mexican  horse-thieves  and  the  prairie 
fires  and  the  Indian  outbreaks  were  inevitable,  as 
our  fathers  who  built  this  beautiful  city  knew  to 
their  cost.  The  same  chance  that  was  given  to 
them  to  make  a  home  for  themselves  in  the  wil 
derness,  to  help  others  to  make  their  homes,  to 
assist  the  civilization  and  progress  not  only  of 
this  city,  but  of  the  whole  Lone  Star  State,  was 
given  to  him,  and  he  refused  it,  and  blocked  the 
way  of  others,  and  kept  back  the  march  of  prog 
ress,  until  to-day,  civilization,  which  has  waxed 
great  and  strong — not  on  account  of  him,  remem 
ber,  but  in  spite  of  him  —  sweeps  him  out  of  its 
way,  and  crushes  him  and  his  fellows." 

The  young  District  Attorney  allowed  his  arm 
to  drop,  and  turned  to  the  jury,  leaning  easily 
with  his  bent  knuckles  on  the  table. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  in  his  pleasant  tones  of 
every-day  politeness,  "  the  '  bad  man '  has  become 
an  unknown  quantity  in  Zepata  City  and  in  the 
State  of  Texas.  It  lies  with  you  to  see  that  he 
remains  so.  He  went  out  of  existence  with  the 
blanket  Indian  and  the  buffalo.  He  is  dead,  and 
he  must  not  be  resurrected.  He  was  a  picturesque 
evil  of  those  early  days,  but  civilization  has  no 
use  for  him,  and  it  has  killed  him,  as  the  railroads 
and  the  barb  -  wire  fence  have  killed  the  cowboy. 
He  does  not  belong  here ;  he  does  not  fit  in;  he  is 
not  wanted.  We  want  men  who  can  breed  good 


THE    BOY   ORATOR    OF    ZEPATA    CITY  161 

cattle,  who  can  build  manufactories  and  open 
banks  ;  storekeepers  who  can  undersell  those  of 
other  cities;  and  professional  men  who  know  their 
business.  We  do  not  want  desperadoes  and  '  bad 
men'  and  faro-dealers  and  men  who  are  quick  on 
the  trigger.  A  foolish  and  morbid  publicity  has 
cloaked  men  of  this  class  with  a  notoriety  which 
cheap  and  pernicious  literature  has  greatly  helped 
to  disseminate.  They  have  been  made  romantic 
when  they  were  brutal,  brave  when  they  were 
foolhardy,  heroes  when  they  were  only  bullies  and 
blackguards.  This  man,  Abe  Barrow,  the  pris 
oner  at  the  bar,  belongs  to  that  class.  He  enjoys 
and  has  enjoyed  a  reputation  as  a  *  bad  man,'  a 
desperate  and  brutal  ruffian.  Free  him  to-day, 
and  you  set  a  premium  on  such  reputations  ; 
acquit  him  of  this  crime,  and  you  encourage  oth 
ers  to  like  evil.  Let  him  go,  and  he  will  walk  the 
streets  with  a  swagger,  and  boast  that  you  were 
afraid  to  touch  him  —  afraid,  gentlemen  —  and 
children  and  women  will  point  after  him  as  the 
man  who  has  sent  nine  others  into  eternity,  and 
who  yet  walks  the  streets  a  free  man.  And  he 
will  become,  in  the  eyes  of  the  young  and  the 
weak,  a  hero  and  a  god.  This  is  unfortunate,  but 
it  is  true. 

''  Now,  gentlemen,  we  want  to  keep  the  streets 
of  this  city  so  safe  that  a  woman  can  walk  them 
at  midnight  without  fear  of  insult,  and  a  man  can 
express  his  opinion  on  the  corner  without  being 
shot  in  the  back  for  doing  so." 


162  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

The  District  Attorney  turned  from  the  jury 
with  a  bow,  and  faced  Judge  Truax. 

"  For  the  last  ten  years,  your  honor,  this  man, 
Abner  Barrow,  has  been  serving  a  term  of  im 
prisonment  in  the  State  penitentiary  ;  I  ask  you 
to  send  him  back  there  again  for  the  remainder 
of  his  life.  It  will  be  the  better  place  for  him, 
and  we  will  be  happier  in  knowing  we  have  done 
our  duty  in  placing  him  there.  Abe  Barrow  is 
out  of  date.  He  has  missed  step  with  the  march 
of  progress,  and  has  been  out  of  step  for  ten 
years,  and  it  is  best  for  all  that  he  should  remain 
out  of  it  until  he,  who  has  sent  nine  other  men 
unprepared  to  meet  their  God — " 

"He  is  not  on  trial  for  the  murder  of  nine 
men,"  interrupted  Colonel  Stogart,  springing  from 
his  chair,  "but  for  the  justifiable  killing  of  one, 
and  I  demand,  your  honor,  that — " 

" — has  sent  nine  other  men  to  meet  their  Maker," 
continued  the  District  Attorney,  "  meets  with  the 
awful  judgment  of  a  higher  court  than  this." 

Colonel  Stogart  smiled  scornfully  at  the  plati 
tude,  and  sat  down  with  an  expressive  shrug  ; 
but  no  one  noticed  him. 

The  District  Attorney  raised  his  arm  and  faced 
the  court  -  room.  "  It  cannot  be  said  of  us"  he 
cried, "  that  we  have  sat  idle  in  the  market-place. 
We  have  advanced  and  advanced  in  the  last  ten 
years,  until  we  have  reached  the  very  foremost 
place  with  civilized  people.  This  Rip  Van  Winkle 
of  the  past  returns  to  find  a  city  where  he  left  a 


THE    BOY    ORATOR    OF    ZEPATA    CITY  163 

prairie  town,  a  bank  where  he  spun  his  roulette 
wheel,  this  magnificent  court-house  instead  of  a 
vigilance  committee.  And  what  is  his  part  in 
this  new  court-house,  which  to-day,  for  the  first 
time,  throws  open  its  doors  to  protect  the  just  and 
to  punish  the  unjust? 

"  Is  he  there  in  the  box  among  those  honorable 
men,  the  gentlemen  of  the  jury?  Is  he  in  that 
great  crowd  of  intelligent,  public-spirited  citizens 
who  make  the  bone  and  sinew  of  this  our  fair 
city  ?  Is  he  on  the  honored  bench  dispensing 
justice,  and  making  the  intricacies  of  the  law 
straight  ?  No,  gentlemen  ;  he  has  no  part  in  our 
triumph.  He  is  there,  in  the  prisoners'  pen,  an 
outlaw,  a  convicted  murderer,  and  an  unconvicted 
assassin,  the  last  of  his  race — the  bullies  and  bad 
men  of  the  border — a  thing  to  be  forgotten  and 
put  away  forever  from  the  sight  of  man.  He 
has  outlasted  his  time  ;  he  is  a  superfluity  and  an 
outrage  on  our  reign  of  decency  and  order.  And 
I  ask  you,  gentlemen,  to  put  him  away  where  he 
will  not  hear  the  voice  of  man  nor  children's 
laughter,  nor  see  a  woman  smile,  where  he  will 
not  even  see  the  face  of  the  warden  who  feeds 
him,  nor  sunlight  except  as  it  is  filtered  through 
the  iron  bars  of  a  jail.  Bury  him  with  the 
bitter  past,  with  the  lawlessness  that  has  gone— 
that  has  gone,  thank  God — and  which  must  not 
return.  Place  him  in  the  cell  where  he  belongs, 
and  whence,  had  justice  been  done,  he  would 
never  have  been  taken  alive." 


164  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

The  District  Attorney  sat  down  suddenly,  with 
a  quick  nod  to  the  Judge  and  the  jury,  and  fum 
bled  over  his  papers  with  nervous  fingers.  Pie 
was  keenly  conscious,  and  excited  with  the  fer 
vor  of  his  own  words.  He  heard  the  reluctantly 
hushed  applause  and  the  whispers  of  the  crowd, 
and  noted  the  quick  and  combined  movement  of 
the  jury  with  a  selfish  sweet  pleasure,  which 
showed  itself  only  in  the  tightening  of  the  lips 
and  nostrils.  Those  nearest  him  tugged  at  his 
sleeve  and  shook  hands  with  him.  He  remem 
bered  this  afterwards  as  one  of  the  rewards  of 
the  moment.  He  turned  the  documents  before 
him  over  and  scribbled  words  upon  a  piece  of 
paper  and  read  a  passage  in  an  open  law-book. 
He  did  this  quite  mechanically,  and  was  conscious 
of  nothing  until  the  foreman  pronounced  the 
prisoner  at  the  bar  guilty  of  murder  in  the  sec 
ond  degree. 

Judge  Truax  leaned  across  his  desk  and  said, 
simply,  that  it  lay  in  his  power  to  sentence  the 
prisoner  to  not  less  than  two  years'  confinement 
in  the  State  penitentiary  or  for  the  remainder  of 
his  life. 

"Before  I  deliver  sentence  on  you,  Abner  Bar 
row,"  he  said,  with  an  old  man's  kind  severity, 
"  is  there  anything  you  have  to  say  on  your  own 
behalf  ?" 

The  District  Attorney  turned  his  face,  as  did 
all  the  others,  but  he  did  not  see  the  prisoner. 
He  still  saw  himself  holding  the  court-room  with 


THE    BOY    OKATOR    OF    ZEPATA    CITY  165 

a  spell,  and  heard  his  own  periods  ringing  against 
the  whitewashed  ceiling.  The  others  saw  a  tall, 
broad-shouldered  man  leaning  heavily  forward 
over  the  bar  of  the  prisoner's  box.  His  face  was 
white  with  the  prison  tan,  markedly  so  in  con 
trast  with  those  sunburnt  by  the  wind  and  sun 
turned  towards  him,  and  pinched  and  hollow- 
eyed  and  worn.  When  he  spoke,  his  voice  had 
the  huskiness  which  comes  from  non-use,  and 
cracked  and  broke  like  a  child's. 

"I  don't  know,  Judge,1'  he  said,  hesitatingly, 
and  staring  stupidly  at  the  mass  of  faces  in  the 
well  beneath  him,  "  that  I  have  anything  to  say- 
in  my  own  behalf.  I  don't  know  as  it  would  be 
any  use.  I  guess  what  the  gentleman  said  about 
me  is  all  there  is  to  say.  He  put  it  about  right. 
I've  had  my  fun,  and  I've  got  to  pay  for  it — that 
is,  I  thought  it  was  fun  at  the  time.  I  am  not 
going  to  cry  any  baby  act  and  beg  off,  or  any 
thing,  if  that's  what  you  mean.  But  there  is 
something  I'd  like  to  say  if  I  thought  you  would 
believe  me."  He  frowned  down  at  the  green  ta 
ble  as  though  the  words  he  wanted  would  not 
come,  and  his  eyes  wandered  from  one  face  to 
another,  until  they  rested  upon  the  bowed  head 
of  the  only  woman  in  the  room.  They  remained 
there  for  some  short  time,  and  then  Barrow  drew 
in  his  breath  more  quickly,  and  turned  with  some 
thing  like  a  show  of  confidence  to  the  jury. 

"  All  that  man  said  of  me  is  true,"  he  said.  He 
gave  a  toss  of  his  hands  as  a  man  throws  away 


166  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STOEIES 

the  reins.  "I  admit  all  he  says.  I  am  a  back 
number  ;  I  am  out  of  date  ;  I  was  a  loafer  and  a 
blackguard.  I  never  shot  any  man  in  the  back, 
nor  I  never  assassinated  no  one;  but  that's  neither 
here  nor  there.  I'm  not  in  a  place  where  I  can 
expect  people  to  pick  out  their  words;  but,  as  he 
says,  I  am  a  bad  lot.  He  says  I  have  enjoyed  a 
reputation  as  a  desperado.  I  am  not  bragging  of 
that ;  I  just  ask  you  to  remember  that  he  said  it. 
Remember  it  of  me.  I  was  not  the  sort  to  back 
down  to  man  or  beast,  and  I'm  not  now.  I  am 
not  backing  down  now  ;  I'm  taking  my  punish 
ment.  Whatever  you  please  to  make  it,  I'll  take 
it ;  and  that,"  he  went  on,  more  slowly,  "  makes 
it  harder  for  me  to  ask  what  I  want  to  ask,  and 
make  you  all  believe  I  am  not  asking  it  for  my 
self." 

He  stopped,  and  the  silence  in  the  room  seemed 
to  give  him  some  faint  encouragement  of  sym 
pathy,  though  it  was  rather  the  silence  of  curi 
osity. 

Colonel  Stogart  gave  a  stern  look  upward,  and 
asked  the  prisoner's  wife,  in  a  whisper,  if  she 
knew  what  her  husband  meant  to  say,  but  she 
shook  her  head.  She  did  not  know.  The  District 
Attorney  smiled  indulgently  at  the  prisoner  and 
at  the  men  about  him,  but  they  were  watching 
the  prisoner. 

"That  man  there,"  said  Barrow,  pointing  with 
one  gaunt  hand  at  the  boy  attorney,  "  told  you 
I  had  no  part  or  parcel  in  this  city  or  in  this 


THE    BOY    OllATOR    OP    ZEPATA    CITY  167 

world  ;  that  I  belonged  to  the  past;  that  I  had 
ought  to  be  dead.  Now  that's  not  so.  I  have 
just  one  thing  that  belongs  to  this  city  and  this 
world — and  to  me;  one  thing  that  I  couldn't  take 
to  jail  with  me,  and  that  I'll  have  to  leave  behind 
me  when  I  go  back  to  it.  I  mean  my  wife." 

The  prisoner  stopped,  and  looked  so  steadily  at 
one  place  below  him  that  those  in  the  back  of  the 
court  guessed  for  the  first  time  that  Mrs.  Barrow 
was  in  the  room,  and  craned  forward  to  look  at 
her,  and  there  was  a  moment  of  confusion  and  a 
murmur  of  "  Get  back  there !"  "  Sit  still !"  The 
prisoner  turned  to  Judge  Truax  again  and  squared 
his  broad  shoulders,  making  the  more  conspicuous 
his  narrow  and  sunken  chest. 

"  You,  sir,"  he  said,  quietly,  with  a  change  from 
the  tone  of  braggadocio  with  which  he  had  begun 
to  speak,  "  remember  her,  sir,  when  I  married 
her,  twelve  years  ago.  She  was  Henry  Holman's 
daughter,  he  who  owned  the  San  lago  Ranch  and 
the  triangle  brand.  I  took  her  from  the  home 
she  had  with  her  father  against  that  gentleman's 
wishes,  sir,  to  live  with  me  over  my  dance-hall  at 
the  Silver  Star.  You  may  remember  her  as  she 
was  then.  She  gave  up  everything  a  woman 
ought  to  have  to  come  to  me.  She  thought  she 
was  going  to  be  happy  with  me  ;  that's  why  she 
come,  I  guess.  Maybe  she  was  happy  for  about 
two  weeks.  After  that  first  two  weeks  her  life, 
sir,  was  a  hell,  and  I  made  it  a  hell.  I  was  drunk 
most  of  the  time,  or  sleeping  it  off,  and  ugly- 


168  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

tempered  when  I  was  sober.  There  was  shooting 
and  carrying  on  all  day  and  night  down-stairs, 
and  she  didn't  dare  to  leave  her  room.  Besides 
that,  she  cared  for  me,  and  she  was  afraid  every 
minute  I  was  going  to  get  killed.  That's  the  way 
she  lived  for  two  years.  Respectable  women 
wouldn't  speak  to  her  because  she  was  my  wife ; 
even  them  that  were  friends  of  hers  when  she  lived 
on  the  ranch  wouldn't  speak  to  her  on  the  street — 
and  she  had  no  children.  That  was  her  life  ;  she 
lived  alone  over  the  dance-hall ;  and  sometimes 
when  I  was  drunk — I  beat  her." 

The  man's  white  face  reddened  slowly  as  he 
said  this ;  and  he  stopped,  and  then  continued 
more  quickly,  with  his  eyes  still  fixed  on  those  of 
the  Judge  : 

"At  the  end  of  two  years  I  killed  Welsh,  and 
they  sent  me  to  the  penitentiary  for  ten  years, 
and  she  was  free.  She  could  have  gone  back  to 
her  folks  and  got  a  divorce  if  she'd  wanted  to, 
and  never  seen  me  again.  It  was  an  escape  most 
women  M  gone  down  on  their  knees  and  thanked 
their  Maker  for,  and  blessed  the  day  they'd  been 
freed  from  a  blackguardly  drunken  brute. 

"  But  what  did  this  woman  do — my  wife,  the 
woman  I  misused  and  beat  and  dragged  down  in 
the  mud  with  me  ?  She  was  too  mighty  proud  to 
go  back  to  her  people  or  to  the  friends  who  shook 
her  when  she  was  in  trouble  ;  and  she  sold -out  the 
place,  and  bought  a  ranch  with  the  money,  and 
worked  it  by  herself,  worked  it  day  and  night, 


THE    BOY    ORATOR    OF    ZEPATA    CITY  169 

until  in  ten  years  she  had  made  herself  an  old 
woman,  as  you  see  she  is  to-day. 

"And  for  what?  To  get  me  free  again;  to 
bring  me  things  to  eat  in  jail,  and  picture  papers 
and  tobacco — when  she  was  living  on  bacon  and 
potatoes,  and  drinking  alkali  water — working  to 
pay  for  a  lawyer  to  fight  for  me — to  pay  for  the 
best  lawyer !  She  worked  in  the  fields  with  her 
own  hands,  planting  and  ploughing,  working  as  I 
never  worked  for  myself  in  my  whole  lazy,  rotten 
life.  That's  what  that  woman  there  did  for  me." 

The  man  stopped  suddenly,  and  turned  with  a 
puzzled  look  towards  where  his  wife  sat,  for  she 
had  dropped  her  head  on  the  table  in  front  of  her, 
and  he  had  heard  her  sobbing. 

"And  what  I  want  to  ask  of  you,  sir,  is  to  let 
me  have  two  years  out  of  jail  to  show  her  how  I 
feel  about  it.  I  ask  you  not  to  send  me  back  for 
life,  sir.  Give  me  just  two  years — two  years  of 
my  life  while  I  have  some  strength  left  to  work 
for  her  as  she  worked  for  me.  I  only  want  to 
show  her  how  I  care  for  her  now.  I  had  the 
chance,  and  I  wouldn't  take  it ;  and  now,  sir,  I 
want  to  show  her  that  I  know  and  understand — 
now,  when  it's  too  late.  It's  all  I've  thought  of 
when  I  was  in  jail,  to  be  able  to  see  her  sitting  in 
her  own  kitchen  with  her  hands  folded,  and  me 
working  and  sweating  in  the  fields  for  her — work 
ing  till  every  bone  ached,  trying  to  make  it  up 
to  her. 

".And  I  can't !"  the  man  cried,  suddenly,  losing 


170  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STOKIES 

the  control  he  had  forced  upon  himself,  and  toss 
ing  his  hands  up  above  his  head,  and  with  his 
eyes  fixed  hopelessly  on  the  bowed  head  below 
him.  "  I  can't!  It's  too  late.  It's  too  late  !" 

He  turned  and  faced  the  crowd  and  the  District 
Attorney  defiantly. 

"I'm  not  crying  for  the  men  I  killed.  They're 
dead.  I  can't  bring  them  back.  But  she's  not 
dead,  and  I  treated  her  worse  than  I  treated  them. 
She  never  harmed  me,  nor  got  in  my  way,  nor 
angered  me.  And  now,  when  I  want  to  do  what 
I  can  for  her  in  the  little  time  that's  left,  he  tells 
you  I'm  a  'relic  of  the  past,'  that  civilization's 
too  good  for  me,  that  you  must  bury  me  until  it's 
time  to  bury  me  for  good.  Just  when  I've  got 
something  I  must  live  for,  something  I've  got  to 
do.  Don't  you  believe  me  ?  Don't  you  under 
stand  ?" 

He  turned  again  towards  the  Judge,  and  beat 
the  rail  before  him  impotently  with  his  wasted 
hand.  "  Don't  send  me  back  for  life  !"  he  cried. 
"Give  me  a  few  years  to  work  for  her — two  years, 
one  year— to  show  her  what  I  feel  here,  what  I 
never  felt  for  her  before.  Look  at  her,  gentle 
men.  Look  how  worn  she  is  and  poorly,  and  look 
at  her  hands,  and  you  men  must  feel  how  I  feel. 
I  don't  ask  you  for  myself.  I  don't  want  to  go 
free  on  my  own  account.  I  am  asking  it  for  that 
woman — yes,  and  for  myself,  too.  I  am  playing 
to  'get  back,'  gentlemen.  I've  lost  what  I  had, 
and  I  want  to  get  back  ;  and,"  he  cried,  queru- 


THE  BOY  ORATOR  OF  ZEPATA  CITY     ,171 

lously,  "the  game  keeps  going  against  me.  It's 
only  a  few  years'  freedom  I  want.  Send  me  back 
for  thirty  years,  but  not  for  life.  My  God  !  Judge, 
don't  bury  me  alive,  as  that  man  asked  you  to. 
I'm  not  civilized,  maybe  ;  ways  have  changed. 
You  are  not  the  man  I  knew ;  you  are  all  stran 
gers  to  me.  But  I  could  learn.  I  wouldn't 
bother  you  in  the  old  way.  I  only  want  to  live 
with  her.  I  won't  harm  the  rest  of  you.  Give 
me  this  last  chance.  Let  me  prove  that  what  I'm 
saying  is  true." 

The  man  stopped  and  stood,  opening  and  shut 
ting  his  hands  upon  the  rail,  and  searching  with 
desperate  eagerness  from  face  to  face,  as  one  who 
has  staked  all  he  has  watches  the  wheel  spinning 
his  fortune  away.  The  gentlemen  of  the  jury  sat 
quite  motionless,  looking  straight  ahead  at  the 
blinding  sun,  which  came  through  the  high  un 
curtained  windows  opposite.  Outside,  the  wind 
banged  the  shutters  against  the  wall,  and  whistled 
up  the  street  and  round  the  tin  corners  of  the 
building,  but  inside,  the  room  was  very  silent. 
The  Mexicans  at  the  door,  who  could  not  under 
stand,  looked  curiously  at  the  faces  of  the  men 
around  them,  and  made  sure  that  they  had  missed 
something  of  much  importance.  For  a  moment 
no  one  moved,  until  there  was  a  sudden  stir  around 
the  District  Attorney's  table,  and  the  men  stepped 
aside  and  let  the  woman  pass  them  and  throw 
herself  against  the  prisoner's  box.  The  prisoner 
bent  his  tall  gaunt  figure  over  the  rail,  and  as  the 


172  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTIIEK    STORIES 

woman  pressed  his  one  hand  against  her  face, 
touched  her  shoulders  with  the  other  awkwardly. 

"  There,  now,"  he  whispered,  soothingly,  "don't 
von  take  on  so.  Now  you  know  how  I  feel,  it's 
all  right ;  don't  take  on." 

Judge  Truax  looked  at  the  paper  on  his  desk 
for  some  seconds,  and  raised  his  head,  coughing 
as  he  did  so.  "It  lies — "  Judge  Truax  began, 
and  then  stopped,  and  began  again,  in  a  more  cer 
tain  tone  :  "  It  lies  at  the  discretion  of  this  Court 
to  sentence  the  prisoner  to  a  term  of  imprison 
ment  of  two  years,  or  for  an  indefinite  period, 
or  for  life.  Owing  to —  On  account  of  certain 
circumstances  which  were — have  arisen — this  sen 
tence  is  suspended.  This  court  stands  adjourned." 

As  he  finished  he  sprang  out  of  his  chair  im 
pulsively,  and  with  a  quick  authoritative  nod  to 
the  young  District  Attorney,  came  quickly  down 
the  steps  of  the  platform.  Young  Harvey  met 
him  at  the  foot  with  wide-open  eyes. 

The  older  man  hesitated,  and  placed  his  hand 
upon  the  District  Attorney's  shoulder.  "  Harry," 
he  said.  His  voice  was  shaken,  and  his  hand 
trembled  on  the  arm  of  his  protege,  for  he  was 
an  old  man  and  easily  moved.  "  Harry,  my  boy," 
he  said,  "do  you  think  you  could  go  to  Austin 
and  repeat  the  speech  that  man  made  to  the  Gov 
ernor?" 

The  boy  orator  laughed,  and  took  one  of  the 
older  man's  hands  in  one  of  his  and  pressed  it 
quickly.  "I'd  like  d d  well  to  try,"  he  said. 


THE  ROMANCE  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  HEFTY 
BURKE 

HEFTY  BUKKE  was  a  young  man  of  honest 
countenance  and  godlike  figure,  who  had  been 
born  by  some  mischance  in  the  Fourth  Ward, 
instead  of  in  a  more  exclusive  neighborhood, 
where  he  would  later  in  life  have  been  able  to 
show  off  the  godlike  figure  in  a  frock-coat.  Hav 
ing  been  born  on  the  East  River  front,  he  had 
followed  the  river  for  a  livelihood  ever  since,  and 
could  swim  when  other  children  of  his  age  were 
learning  to  walk  about  alone.  This  fact  had  been 
demonstrated  only  by  accident,  but  was  vouched 
for  by  those  who  had  seen  him  at  the  age  of  three 
jump  out  of  his  father's  arms  over  the  railing  of 
an  excursion-boat,  and  paddle  around  in  the  water 
until  dragged  out  of  it  at  the  end  of  a  boat-hook. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-five  he  was  making  small 
sums  of  money  by  backing  himself  to  win  in 
swimming  races,  and  had  been  given  numerous 
medals  for  saving  life.  This  latter  recreation  he 
regarded  only  as  a  divertisement.  He  did  not 
make  a  business  of  it,  and  it  was  not  to  him  a 
matter  of  serious  moment,  like  the  winning  of 
long-distance  championships.  But  neither  of  these 


174  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

performances  made  him  wealthy,  and  it  was  most 
necessary  that  he  should  become  so  in  order  that 
he  might  marry  Miss  Mary  Casey,  the  daughter 
of  the  janitor  of  the  Mount  Blanc  Flats.  Hefty 
was  very  much  in  love  with  her,  and  had  urged 
her  to  marry  him  and  live  on  the  little  money 
he  could  earn,  but  Miss  Casey  was  a  thoughtful 
young  person,  and  thoroughly  appreciated  her  own 
value.  She  wished  him  to  show  his  love  by  ap 
preciating  it  also.  It  is  sometimes  difficult  to 
express  the  magnitude  of  one's  love  by  one's 
wages,  and  Hefty  found  this  true,  but  Miss  Casey 
saw  no  excuse  in  it.  They  had  been  engaged  for 
over  a  year. 

But  while  it  was  difficult  for  him  to  earn  money, 
it  was  as  easy  for  him  to  drag  a  drowning  man 
from  death  to  the  pier-head  as  for  you  to  guide  a 
blind  man  from  one  sidewalk  to  the  other,  or  a 
girl  across  a  ballroom ;  and  his  manner  in  doing 
the  one  thing  was  as  matter-of-fact,  and  as  little 
self-conscious,  as  yours  would  probably  be  in  per 
forming  the  other.  If  the  drowning  person  strug 
gled,  he  ducked  her,  if  it  chanced  to  be  a  woman; 
or,  if  it  were  a  man,  drew  away  an  arm's-length 
and  trod  water  until  he  had  posed  his  victim  prop 
erly,  when  he  would  strike  him  once  between  the 
eyes,  and  then  slip  him  over  his  shoulder  like  a 
bag  of  meal,  and  sweep  in  with  him  to  a  firm 
mooring. 

There  was  not,  accordingly,  the  least  hesitation 
in  the  movements  of  Mr.  Burke  when  the  daughter 


THE    ROMANCE    OF    HEFTY    BURKE  175 

of  Sefior  Juan  Alvarez  failed  to  place  her  foot  on 
the  lower  rung  of  the  accommodation-ladder,  and 
sank  between  the  port  side  of  the  tramp  steamer 
Liverpool  and  the  Liverpool's  long-boat.  There 
was  no  one  left  in  the  Liverpool's  long-boat  to 
go  after  her,  because  her  father,  who  had  rowed 
it  over  from  the  slip,  had  mounted  the  ship's  lad 
der  first,  and  was  trying  to  balance  himself  on  it, 
and  at  the  same  time  hold  the  long-boat  back 
against  a  turning  tide  that  strove  to  wrench  it 
out  of  his  hands.  Mr.  Burke  was  at  this  moment 
tacking  around  the  stern  of  the  steamer  in  a  cat-' 

c3 

boat.  There  was  no  time  to  go  about  and  chase 
the  broad  white  hat  that  rose  for  an  instant  at 
the  foot  of  the  ladder,  so  when  he  heard  the  fa 
ther  scream  he  dropped  his  sheet  and  tiller  and 
dived  over  the  boat's  rail  to  leeward,  leaving  her 
reeling  and  careening  impotently  in  the  wind. 
The  broad  straw  hat  rose  once  more  at  the  steam 
er's  bow  and  sank  again,  but  Mr.  Burke  was  in 
close  pursuit  now,  going  hand  after  hand  even 
faster  than  the  current,  with  his  head  under  water, 
and  turning  his  mouth  to  the  surface  at  each  fifth 
stroke  to  gasp  for  a  breath  of  air.  And  when  down 
below  him  he  saw,  turning  and  twisting  in  the 
sharp  undercurrent,  a  slim  white  figure,  he  dived 
for  it  and  brought  it  up  firmly  under  his  arm,  and 
struck  out  confidently  for  the  anchor-chain  that 
stretched  above  his  head  a  few  rods  farther  back, 
quivering  in  the  current.  He  reached  it  with  a 
few  quick  strokes,  and  threw  his  arm  over  it  and 


176  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

hung  there,  breathing  heavily,  and  shaking  the 
damp  hair  from  his  eyes.  He  saw  the  men  of  the 
Liverpool  tumbling  into  the  long-boat,  and  three 
tugs  making  towards  him  with  fierce  shrieks  of 
their  whistles,  and  the  passengers  on  a  lumbering 
ferry-boat  crowded  at  the  rail  and  pointing  him 
out.  It  is  almost  as  difficult  to  drown  in  the  up 
per  bay  as  in  Madison  Square,  and  Mr.  Burke, 
knowing  this,  concerned  himself  not  at  all  with 
the  approaching  aid,  but  turned  his  eyes  with 
careless  interest  to  the  face  beside  his  own.  The 
broad  straw  hat  had  been  wrenched  away,  and 
the  long  hair  loosened,  and  the  smooth  oval  face 
pressed  against  his  was  still  warm  through  the 
water  which  ran  from  it.  It  was  a  different  face 
from  any  which  Mr.  Burke  had  known.  He  would 
have  classed  its  owner,  had  he  been  asked  to 
give  a  guess  at  her  nationality,  as  a  foreigner, 
and  more  particularly  as  "  Eyetalian,"  Italians 
being  to  him  a  generic  term  for  all  those  people 
not  born  between  the  East  and  North  rivers.  But 
he  admitted  mentally  that  it  was  a  very  beautiful 
face.  The  lashes  were  longer  than  any  he  had 
ever  seen,  and  the  lips  smaller,  and  the  skin  a 
warmer,  browner  tint,  which  made  the  clinched 
teeth  under  the  parted  lips  more  white  by  con 
trast.  It  reminded  him  of  a  picture  he  knew  in 
the  cathedral,  but  he  could  not  recall  just  then 
where  he  had  seen  it.  The  face  was  so  delicate 
and  beautiful  that  he  instinctively  moved  his  own 
away  from  it,  and  relaxed  his  hold  round  the 


THE    ROMANCE    OF    HEFTY    BURKE  177 

girl's  body,  and  as  her  head  sank  back  on  his 
shoulder  he  gave  a  short  laugh,  and  wondered 
with  a  grim  smile  what  Mary  Casey  would  say  if 
she  could  see  him  then.  One  of  the  men  in  the 
long-boat  lifted  her  up  gently,  and  her  father 
seized  her  and  caressed  her  and  moaned  and  wept 
over  her,  chattering  in  a  soft  unknown  tongue. 
Hefty  had  never  before  seen  a  man  of  his  age 
weep,  and  he  observed  it  with  interest,  as  he  pulled 
himself  up  over  the  bow  of  the  boat.  The  cap 
tain  of  one  of  the  three  tugs  leaned  over  the  low 
rail  and  recognized  Hefty  with  a  wave  of  his 
hand. 

"  I  bet  on  it  it  was  you,"  he  said.  And  then 
added,  looking  down  at  his  shoulder  with  a  lan 
guishing  smile,  "  Who's  your  friend  ?" 

Mr.  Burke  reddened  fiercely  at  this,  and  did  not 
answer ;  but  whether  he  had  blushed  from  anger 
or  embarrassment  he  could  not  tell.  He  still  felt 
the  touch  of  the  girl's  face  against  his  own,  and 
as  he  became  conscious  of  this,  he  rubbed  his 
cheek  hastily  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  as  a 
tribute  of  fidelity  to  Miss  Casey,  who  had  not 
been  there  to  see. 

He  sailed  back  to  the  slip  in  his  recovered  cat- 
boat  with  a  strange  sensation  of  excitement  and 
unrest.  He  had  never  felt  excited  when  he  had 
saved  other  people,  and  he  attributed  his  feeling 
so  at  this  time  to  the  embarrassingly  fervid  grati 
tude  of  the  queer  little  father,  or  to  the  white 
liquor  he  had  given  him  from  a  long-necked  flask. 


178  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

"It  was  awful  hot  stuff,"  lie  argued,  "and  he 
certainly  did  take  on  about  it.  Might  have  been 
her  mother  from  the  way  he  took  on."  Then  he 
said  "  Foreigners,"  briefly,  as  though  that  ex 
plained  it  all,  and  went  up  to  the  tenement  to 
change  his  wet  clothes. 

There  was  really  no  necessity  for  his  sailing 
out  to  the  Liverpool  again.  He  knew  that  quite 
well  as  he  beat  uncertainly  about  in  the  wind.  He 
knew  the  girl  had  recovered,  for  she  had  opened 
her  eyes  before  he  had  left  the  boat,  and  had 
smiled  up  at  her  father;  so  there  was  absolutely 
no  reason  for  his  returning.  Still,  he  argued,  her 
father  had  asked  him  to  do  so  —  had,  indeed,  en 
treated  him  to  let  them  see  him  again.  Perhaps 
it  was  only  his  excitable  Southern  manner  and 
meant  nothing. 

And  then,  again,  he  would  not  like  them  to  go 
away  thinking  he  had  been  ungracious  and  rude. 
They  had  asked  him  to  come  back  to  dinner,  and 
it  was  even  possible  that  they  might  at  that  mo 
ment  be  waiting  for  him.  His  hand  pushed  the 
tiller  away,  and  then  drew  it  back  with  a  jerk, 
and  threw  the  boat  into  the  wind  again.  He 
would  not  go  back.  What  right  had  he  to  go 
calling  on  strange  girls,  and  "  foreigners "  at 
that  ?  But  as  soon  as  he  had  determined  he  had 
no  right  to  show  this  interest  in  an  unknown  wom 
an,  and  that  he  would  sail  on  to  the  pier,  he  put 
the  boat  sharply  about,  and  headed  it  directly  for 
the  steamer.  Jt  seemed  as  if  the  boat  did  not  go 


THE    ROMANCE    OF    HEFTY    BURKE  179 

fast  enough,  and  in  order  that  he  might  not  again 
change  his  intention  lie  thought  of  the  race  he 
had  on  with  Robinson  for  the  next  Tuesday,  and 
had  just  determined  that  the  stakes  were  not  large 
enough,  and  that  he  would  demand  more  money, 
when  the  sail  of  his  cat-boat  fluttered  in  the  wind, 
and  left  him  at  the  foot  of  the  Liverpool's  ladder. 
They  were  very  glad  to  see  him,  and  he  felt 
satisfied  that  he  had  come,  and  so  expressed  him 
self,  and  his  pleasure  in  finding  that  the  young 
girl  was  not  at  all  the  worse  in  health  for  her 
journey  under  the  water.  She  said  nothing  to 
this,  but  smiled  upon  him  from  beneath  the  long 
lashes  with  dark,  sleepy  eyes.  Her  father  seemed 
to  be  a  very  pleasant  little  man  for  a  "  foreigner," 
with  a  great  deal  of  manner,  which  compared 
favorably  with  that  of  the  Frenchman  who  taught 
all  the  fashionable  dances  for  fifty  cents  an  hour, 
and  for  nothing  to  those  who  formed  classes  of 
six  or  over,  at  Sorley's  Terrace  Garden.  Mr. 
Burke  could  not  remember  having  met  with  such 
pleasant  people  before.  They  ate  in  the  captain's 
cabin  in  company  with  two  of  the  ship's  mates, 
who  were  men  of  doubtful  nationality,  and  who 
said  but  little,  but  who  regarded  Mr.  Burke  close 
ly,  and  drank  frequently  from  the  long-necked 
bottle.  The  Liverpool,  so  they  informed  him, 
was  an  English  tramp  steamer,  chartered  to  carry 
sewing-machines  and  other  manufactured  articles 
to  a  port  in  Colombia,  a  South  American  repub 
lic,  as  they  further  explained.  Seiior  Alvarez  was 


180  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

the  owner  of  the  cargo,  and  his  daughter  accom 
panied  him  for  his  better  companionship  and  for 
a  sight  of  the  great  city  of  New  York.  Mr. 
Burke,  in  turn,  told  them  proudly  of  some  of 
its  wonders,  and  volunteered  to  show  them  its 
"  sights."  He  thought  they  should  certainly  see 
Central  Park*  before  they  left,  and  "  take  in "  a 
dance  at  the  Terrace  Garden.  He  would  also  be 
pleased  to  get  them  seats  for  the  play  then  run 
ning  at  Niblo's,  which  was,  so  he  understood,  a 
"  piece "  worth  seeing.  His  advances  were  re 
ceived  with  polite  consideration,  but  the  seiior 
regretted,  in  bad  English  but  with  perfect  grace, 
their  immediate  departure.  They  had  been  lyinj* 
for  the  past  fortnight  at  the  pier-head,  and  had 
but  that  morning  anchored  in  the  basin,  to  be  in 
readiness  to  start  with  the  tide  at  midnight.  Mr. 
Burke  received  this  information  dumbly.  He 
could  not  tell  why,  but  he  felt  strangely  hurt  at 
their  so  soon  going  away.  It  was  as  if  they  had 
not  only  rejected  him,  but  his  rising  feelings  of 
friendliness  and  hospitality.  But  then,  he  an 
swered  himself,  it  could  mean  nothing  to  him 
whether  they  went  or  came.  And  yet  when  the 
dinner  was  over  he  was  loath  to  go.  He  stood 
on  the  deck  and  pointed  with  his  hand  to  the 
statue  of  Liberty  on  Bedlows  Island. 

"  That's  something  youse  ought'r  see,"  he  said, 
"  but  I  guess  you've  been  over  it.  No  ?  It's  a 
great  bit  of  work  inside,  with  stairs  all  the  way 
up.  You  wouldn't  think  how  big  it  is  from  here. 


THE    ROMANCE    OF    HEFTY    BURKE  181 

Why,  mor'n  a  dozen  men  can  stand  on  the  ledge 
round  the  hand.  If  you  like,"  he  added,  con 
sciously,  "  I'll  sail  you  over  there."  He  looked 
at  the  senorita  as  he  spoke,  and  she  glanced  at 
her  father,  and  he  looked  doubtfully  at  Burke, 
at  which  the  young  man  reddened,  and  then  the 
Spaniard,  seeing  this,  told  his  daughter  that  she 
should  go  of  course,  that  it  was  most  courteous 
of  the  brave  gentleman  who  had  risked  his  life 
for  her.  He  himself  could  not  attend  them,  as 
there  were  clearing-papers  to  sign  and  a  crew 
to  choose. 

The  sun  was  sinking  over  the  Jersey  flats  when 
they  turned  and  headed  back  to  the  steamer. 
The  girl  sat  silently  in  the  cross-seat  amidships, 
with  one  hand  trailing  in  the  water  and  with  the 
other  shading  her  eyes.  She  wore  a  light  dress, 
open  at  the  throat,  and  she  had  thrown  a  black 
lace  scarf  over  her  head  and  shoulders,  with  one 
end  hanging.  It  served  her  for  both  head-dress 
'and  shawl;  and  though  Mr.  Burke  condemned  it 
as  fantastic,  he  admitted  that  it  was  more  be 
coming  to  her  than  Miss  Casey's  flat  hat  would 
have  been.  They  had  passed  the  last  two  hours 
together,  stopping  to  rest  on  the  grass  around 
the  base  of  the  statue,  and  watching  the  boats 
of  different  make  pass  and  repass  the  little  isl 
and.  It  had  seemed  to  Burke  as  if  it  were  all 
their  own,  as  if  the  two  of  them  had  been  cast 
adrift  there,  and  that  the  rest  of  the  world  had 
gone  on  with  its  worries  and  business  and  mak- 


182  THE    EXILES,    AND    OTHER    STORIES 

ing  of  money  and  keeping  of  engagements  with 
out  their  caring  or  knowing.  He  looked  with  con 
tempt  upon  the  big  ferry-boat  that  had  to  move 
on  schedule  time,  and  listened  with  a  feeling  of 
pity  to  the  hoarse  warnings  of  the  tugs,  and  all 
the  other  whistles  and  bells  that  told  of  work  and 
hurry.  The  strange  girl  at  his  side  filled  him 
with  a  feeling  of  distance  from  it  all,  her  soft, 
lazy  voice  and  slow  speech,  as  she  picked  out  and 
formed  her  sentences,  quieted  and  soothed,  and 
yet  unsettled  him.  The  places  and  things  of 
which  she  spoke  were  so  widely  different  from 
what  he  knew,  and  appeared,  as  she  told  of  them, 
as  though  they  must  be  so  much  richer  and  fuller 
and  more  plentiful.  A  land  where  it  was  always 
noon,  with  trees  and  flowers  and  clear  skies,  and 
where  no  one  worked  ;  where  the  earth  furnished 
food  freely,  and  where  the  men  seemed  to  do 
nothing  all  day  but  sit  and  smoke  in  the  open 
squares  ;  where  the  nights  were  filled  with  music 
and  dancing,  and  every  one  sat  out-of-doors  while 
the  band  played  on  the  plaza. 

"  Yes,"  said  Burke,  breathing  heavily,  and  star 
ing  down  with  a  troubled  look  at  the  dark  eyes 
of  the  girl  stretched  on  the  seat  below  him.  "  It 
sounds  as  if  I'd  like  it.  It  ain't  like  this,  is  it?" 
he  said,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  as  a  great  flat 
scow,  laden  with  freight  cars,  pushed  past  them 
with  a  panting  tug  at  her  side. 

"  Ah,  yes  ;  but,  however,"  said  the  girl,  slowly, 
"  you  have  that."  She  raised  her  arm  from  her 


THE    ROMANCE    OF    HEFTY    HURKE  183 

side  and  stretched  it  out,  with  her  long  slim  fin 
gers  pointing  at  the  great  bronze  statue  which  I 
stood  out  black  against  the  red  glow  of  the  sunset.  / 

"  How  ?"  said  Burke  ;  "  have  wot  ?  I  don't  un 
derstand." 

The  girl  rested  her  chin  on  her  hand,  and  looked 
past  him  at  the  statue.  Her  lids  closed  heavily, 
so  that  he  could  hardly  see  her  eyes.  She  shook 
her  head.  "  You  have  liberty,"  she  said,  as  though 
she  were  speaking  to  herself,  "  and  freedom  ;  you 
have  it  all.  You  have  no  tyrants  in  your  coun 
try.  It  is  all  free  and  open  and  noble.  With  us 
there  is  no  law.  We  are  afraid  to  speak  —  we 
are  afraid—  She  stopped  and  closed  her  lips 
as  though  to  compel  herself  to  silence. 

Burke  watched  her  with  a  deep  interest,  which 
he  believed  was  in  what  she  said,  but  which  was 
in  the  fact  that  she  had  said  it.  He  waited  for 
her  to  continue,  but  she  remained  silent. 

"  Wot  do  you  mean ?"  he  asked,  softly.  "  Who's 
hurting  you  in  Colombia?" 

"  We  do  not  live  in  Colombia,"  she  said.  "  Oh 
yes,  the  boat  goes  there,  but  our  own  home — the 
home  I  spoke  of  to  you — is  in  Ecuador.  There  is 
peace  in  Colombia  ;  but  now  with  us  there  is  war 
and  revolution,  and  men  are  shot  in  the  streets 
because  they  will  not  suffer  to  be  robbed."  She 
stopped  again,  and  held  her  hands  before  her  face. 

"  Shot  in  the  street,  eh  ?"  said  Mr.  Burke,  grave 
ly.  "  Wot !  Don't  the  police  stop  'em  ?" 

"  It  is  a  revolution,"  said  the  girl,  impatiently. 


184  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

"  My  people  have  been  struggling  for  many  years 
against  oppression.  My  uncle,"  she  said,  conscious 
ly,  "  should  be  President  of  Ecuador,  but  now  be 
cause  Gonzales  has  the  army  with  him  my  uncle 
cannot  take  his  place,  but  hides  in  the  mountains 
without  a  home.-  They  hunt  him  like  a  bandit. 
They  have  turned  his  house  into  a  barracks  for 
Gonzales'  soldiers.  I  myself  saw  their  tents  and 
horses  in  the  gardens  where  I  have  walked  many 
times.  It  is  all  confiscate — you  understand?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Burke,  shaking  his  head  solemnly. 
"  I  read  it  in  the  papers.  I  read  there  was  fight 
ing  going  on  down  there  ;  but  I  didn't  take  no 
notice  to  it,  it's  so  far  away,"  he  added,  apologet 
ically. 

"So  far  away!"  the  girl  repeated,  with  quick 
offence.  "  Do  not  men  love  their  homes  every 
where  they  may  be?  And  love  their  free  life, 
and  to — be  masters  ?  I  and  my  people  have  had 
no  home  for  years  ;  my  uncle,  chosen  of  the  peo 
ple,  is  driven  from  the  city  by  a  paid  military  ;  by 
•a  man  who  robs  the  rich  and  taxes  the  poor — 
taxes  the  salt  they  eat." 

Mr.  Burke  reddened  slowly.  "Huh  !"  he  said, 
fiercely.  "He  does,  hey?  Well,  wot  are  all  your 
men  doing  all  this  time?" 

The  girl  gave  him  a  quick  look  of  approval. 
She  leaned  forward,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  his. 
"They  do  the  best  they  can,"  she  said,  slowly. 
"  They  are  poor,  but  not  so  poor  but  w^hen  they 
get  the  guns  and  the  cannons  and  the  powder, 


THE    ROMANCE    OF    HEFTY    BURKE  185 

like  all  that  Gonzales  has,  they  will  not  be  poor 
no  more."  She  opened  her  clasped  arms,  and 
threw  her  hands  out  with  a  quick,  impulsive  gest 
ure.  "  Then  the  brother  of  my  dear  father,"  she 
whispered,  "will  come  back  at  the  head  of  the 
army  to  the  people  who  have  chosen  him,  and 
those  inside  will  open  the  gates,  and  he  will  march 
in  and  drive  Gonzales  away,  and  Gonzales  will 
die,  and  there  will  be  peace  again  and  freedom, 
and  no  more  taxes,  nor  stealing,  nor  assassina 
tions."  The  tears  came  to  her  eyes  and  ran  slow 
ly  down  her  cheeks,  but  she  did  not  touch  them. 
"  Ah,  yes,  we  have  brave  men,"  she  said,  raising 
her  head  proudly  and  nodding  at  him. 

Burke  shifted  his  hand  on  the  tiller  and  looked 
away.  "  And  brave  women,  I  guess,"  he  said. 
"  I  wish,"  he  began — "  I  wish  I  could  do  some 
thing,"  he  concluded,  impotently. 

The  girl  smiled  quickly,  and  straightened  her 
head  and  shoulders.  "Yes,  I  did  not  do  wrong 
to  speak  to  you,"  she  said,  considering  him  with 
grave,  kind  eyes.  "  You  do  understand  it.  You 
are  brave  ;  yes,  you  are  brave,  and  you  now  know 
what  it  is  that  we  suffer." 

Mr.  Burke  made  no  answer,  but  looked  past  and 
beyond  her.  She  seemed  to  have  forgotten  him 
in  the  thoughts  which  her  words  had  brought 
back  to  her,  and  sat,  with  her  chin  on  her  hand, 
gazing  steadily  across  the  water.  It  was  all  new 
to  him,  and  he  let  himself  go  for  the  time,  and 
did  not  try  to  shake  off  the  hold  the  girl  had 


186  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER   STOKIES 

laid  upon  him.  Mary  Casey  and  her  yellow  hair 
and  proud  nose,  that  was  borne  in  air  as  the 
daughter's  of  a  janitor  should  be,  grew  familiar 
and  commonplace  ;  her  complainings  and  up- 
braidings  returned  to  him  with  a  jar,  and  he 
compared,  unwillingly  enough,  her  love  of  the 
gossip  of  the  tenement  and  of  the  corner  flirta 
tions,  and  her  envy  of  other  girls  more  fortunate 
in  richer  young  men,  with  this  queer,  beautiful 
girl,  who  treated  him  as  a  hero,  and  whose  life 
seemed  mixed  up  with  danger  and  the  making  of 
Presidents.  He  remembered  with  fresh  regret 
the  lack  of  appreciation  Miss  Casey  had  shown 
when  he  helped  make  a  President  by  acting  as 
window -man  at  the  last  election.  He  was  sure 
this  girl  would  have  better  understood  the  impor 
tance  of  that  service. 

Sefior  Alvarez  received  them  at  the  head  of  the 
accommodation-ladder,  and  bade  Burke  make  the 
boat  fast.  "  You  will  remain  to  eat  with  us,"  he 
said. 

Burke  did  not  argue  with  himself  this  time,  but 
told  himself  that  this  was  for  the  last  time,  and 
that  he  would  never  again  see  these  strange  peo 
ple  who  had  come  so  suddenly  into  his  life. 

The  moon  rose  early  that  night,  and  by  the 
time  they  came  out  upon  the  deck  had  spread  its 
light  over  the  river  and  softened  the  red  and 
green  lights  at  the  yards  of  the  many  steamers 
anchored  about  them.  I*  had  turned  the  deck 
white  and  the  ratlines  and  cordage  black,  and 


THE    ROMANCE    OF   HEFTY    BUKKE  187 

threw  their  shadows  before  them  as  they  walked. 
The  Jersey  shore  lay  like  a  black  frame  to  the 
picture,  broken  by  blocks  of  blazing  lights  at  the 
ferries,  which  glowed  like  open  fireplaces  against 
the  dark  background  of  the  city.  And  to  the 
north  the  Battery  showed  a  curve  of  lamps,  and 
high  above  it  rose  the  Bridge  like  a  great  spider's 
web,  dotted  with  a  double  row  of  stars.  But 
Burke  saw  nothing  of  this  ;  he  was  thinking  of 
the  hot,  restless  country  with  the  queer  name, 
many  miles  away,  of  which  he  had  but  just 
learned,  and  yet  for  which  he  felt  a  fierce  turmoil 
of  sympathy. 

Though  it  was  so  late,  the  men  were  still  low 
ering  cases  and  boxes  from  the  main-deck  into 
the  open  hatch  with  the  aid  of  a  creaking  derrick, 
and  the  three  stood  on  the  bridge  and  watched 
them  in  silence.  A  mate,  with  his  hands  in  the 
pockets  of  his  jacket,  directed  them  in  a  low  voice 
and  in  a  strange  tongue,  and  the  moonlight  gave 
to  the  men  and  their  work  a  strange  and  unfamil 
iar  aspect.  The  derrick  swung  short  of  the  hatch, 
and  stopped  with  a  jerk,  and  the  box  it  had  lifted 
shook  free  from  the  rope  about  it,  and  came  down, 
turning  over  in  the  air.  There  was  a  warning  cry 
from  the  mate,  and  a  crash  as  the  box  struck.  It 
burst  into  a  dozen  pieces,  and  there  tumbled  out 
upon  the  moonlit  deck  a  scattered  mass  of  glitter 
ing  sabres.  Senor  Alvarez  uttered  a  quick,  for 
eign  oath,  and  threw  himself  in  front  of  Burke, 
as  though  to  shut  the  sight  from  him  ;  but  Burke 


188  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

only  turned  towards  the  girl  and  smiled  in  sympa 
thy.  The  smile,  more  than  anything  else,  seemed 
to  startle  the  little  Spaniard,  and  he  glanced  quick 
ly  at  his  daughter  for  a  word  of  explanation. 

"  I  have  told  him,"  she  said.  "  I  have  told  him 
much,  and  he  guesses  the  rest." 

"  You  have  guessed  ?  Yes,"  said  Alvarez,  fierce 
ly  ;  "  what  have  you  guessed?" 

Burke  shrugged  his  shoulders  irresolutely. 
"It's  no  business  of  mine,"  he  said.  " I  only  wish 
it  was,"  he  added.  He  turned  away,  while  the  fa 
ther  and  daughter  spoke  to  each  other  quickly  in 
their  own  language.  Then  the  Spaniard  turned 
and  surveyed  Burke  with  steady  deliberation. 

"You  are  a  brave  young  man,"  he  began,  slowly, 
and  speaking  with  soft  intentness.  "You  have 
shown  us  to-day  that  you  think  of  other  lives 
before  your  own  :  is  it  not  so  ?  You  have  done 
very  much  for  me:  what  will  you  do  more  ?"  He 
paused,  dramatically,  and  held  out  his  arms. 

Burke  regarded  him  with  a  troubled  counte 
nance.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Come  with  us,"  urged  the  Spaniard,  quickly. 
"  That  is  what  I  mean.  Come  with  us.  My  daugh 
ter,  she  has  told  me  what  you  know.  She  did 
wrong  to  tell  you,  perhaps.  We  shall  see.  Per 
haps  no;  perhaps  she  has  done  well.  Come  with 
us,  and  I  will  make  you  a  captain.  You  will  have 
many  men  under  your  command,  and  much  of 
glory  and  reward,  and  when  my  brother  is  in  the 
capital  again,  you  will  be  a  man  with  many  titles 


THE    ROMANCE    OF    HEFTY    BURKE  189 

to  honor,  and  a  home  for  yourself  with  beautiful 
gardens  about  it.  We  need  brave  men.  You  are 
a  brave  man.  Will  you  come  ?"  The  girl  moved 
slowly  to  her  father,  and  stood  beside  him,  with 
one  hand  resting  on  his  shoulder,  and  looked  at 
Burke  from  under  the  shadow  of  the  black  man 
tilla.  He  could  see  her  eyes  shining  in  the  moon 
light.  They  neither  invited  nor  repelled  him,  but 
questioned  him  earnestly.  There  was  a  moment's 
pause,  and  then  Burke  shook  himself  and  laughed 
weakly.  He  thrust  his  hands  deep  into  his  pockets 
and  stood  slouching,  with  his  chin  thrown  out, 
and  smiling  bitterly  at  the  great  buildings  around 
Bowling  Green.  "Well?"  said  the  older  man, 
with  sharp  suspicion  in  his  voice. 

"  You  needn't  think  that—  You  can't  under 
stand,"  said  Burke.  "I  am  not  good  at  saying 
things,"  he  added,  impotently.  "  Wot  I  mean  is," 
he  began  again,  "  you  wouldn't  understand,  even 
if  I  was  to  tell  you." 

"You  have  seen  much,"  said  the  Spaniard, 
slowly.  "  You  know  more  than  any  man  in  this 
country  knows.  My  daughter,  she  has  told  you 
why  we  come ;  you  see  for  yourself  why  we  come." 
His  voice  rose  to  a  sharp  climax  of  excitement 
and  suspicious  fear.  "  I  make  no  more  promises. 
I  command  you.  You  understand,  you  must  go 
with  us;  you  must  go.  We  cannot  trust  you  to 
leave  behind." 

Burke's  hands  came  out  of  his  pockets  with  a 
jerk.  "  Wot !"  he  growled,  savagely.  "  You  can't 


190  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER   STOKIES 

trust  me,  can't  you?  Why  not?  Wot  do  you 
know  of  wot  I've  got  to  do,  of  wot  I'd  like  to  do 
if  I  had  my  way?  I'm  promised.  I've  given 
my  word  to  do  something  else.  I'd  like  to  fight 
and  row  with  the  best  of  you — for  you  and  for 
the  lady  there.  But  —  but  I'm  not  free.  I've 
got  my  work  cut  out  for  me  where  I  am.  I've 
got  to  stay  here." 

"You  have  got  to  stay  here,"  repeated  the 
Spaniard,  suspiciously.  "Yet  you  are  a  young 
man.  You  cannot  have  family  or  much  business. 
You  take  your  pleasure  swimming  and  sailing  in 
your  boat  in  this  bay.  I  have  been  informed  so 
of  you  since  you  were  he-re  this  morning.  All 
these  people  know  of  you.  They  say  you  are  very 
brave,  and  that  you  are  free.  They  all  say  good 
of  you,  but  now  you  know  too  much  than  is  good 
for  you.  You  shall  come  with  me." 

Burke  gave  the  girl  a  troubled  glance  and  shook 
his  head.  "  Can't  you  understand  ?"  he  asked ; 
and  then  added,  straightening  himself  and  try 
ing  to  give  an  air  of  importance  to  what  he  was 
about  to  say,  "  I'm  engaged." 

"  Engaged — what  is  that  ?"  demanded  the  Span 
iard,  quickly. 

"  I'm  engaged  to  be  married  to  a  young  wom 
an.  I've  got  to  stay  at  home  and  take  care  of 
her." 

The  Spaniard  regarded  him  closely  for  a  mo 
ment  with  evident  incredulity,  and  then  burst 
into  a  laugh  which  mocked  him. 


THE    ROMANCE    OF    HEFTY    BUKKE  191 

"  Oh,"  he  said,  "  it  is  that,  is  it  ?  It  is  a  young 
woman.  It  is  always  so.  You  have  here  honor, 
money,  and  much  renown,  and  great  good  to  do, 
and  you  remember  this  young  woman.  Let  me 
not  keep  you  !'5  he  cried,  with  a  sudden  change  of 
manner.  "Let  us  not  detain  you  from  her  any 
more.  You  are  no  doubt  impatient  to  be  back." 
He  bowed  with  exaggerated  courtesy,  and,  with 
an  air  of  relief  and  amusement,  moved  backwards 
towards  the  top  of  the  ladder.  "  Let  us  not  keep 
you,"  he  said,  laughing. 

Burke  observed  him  with  a  sick  feeling  of  rage 
at  the  injustice  of  it,  and  then  raised  his  eyes 
slowly  to  those  of  the  girl.  She  had  turned  from- 
them,  and  was  standing  erect  and  motionless,  with 
her  hands  resting  on  the  polished  rail  and  gazing 
steadily  at  the  shore.  She  must  surely  understand, 
Burke  thought. 

"  Perhaps,"  interrupted  the  mocking  voice  of 
the  father — "  perhaps  it  is  that  you  do  not  desire 
to  go  for  war.  Fighting,  it  is  true,  is  full  of 
danger."  He  laughed  and  bowed  again,  motion 
ing  with  a  wave  of  the  hand  towards  the  ladder. 

Burke  turned  and  looked  at  him,  with  his 
shoulders  bent  and  his  head  lowered.  It  reminded 
the  Spaniard  suddenly  of  a  bull  he  had  seen  in 
the  ring  after  the  matadors  had  tormented  it,  and 
just  before  it  had  plunged  forward  and  hurled  a 
man  lifeless  against  the  President's  box.  He 
straightened  himself,  and  fell  back  a  step.  "  Per 
haps,"  he  said,  quickly,  "  there  is  something  I  do 


192  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

not  comprehend.  You  will  pardon  me,  but  I  mis 
understood." 

Burke  regarded  him  steadily  for  some  short 
time,  and  then  turned  away  without  having  heard 
what  he  had  said.  He  slipped  his  cap  from  his 
head,  and  moved  a  step  nearer  the  girl.  "It  isn't 
that  I  am  afraid  of  the  fighting — you  know  that," 
he  said — "  but  that  I  am  afraid  of  something  else." 
He  stopped  and  stood  with  his  eyes  fixed  so 
earnestly  on  the  girl's  face  that  she  seemed  to 
feel  them,  and  her  shoulders  moved  slightly  as 
though  the  cool  night  air  had  made  her  tremble. 
"I  am  afraid  of  breaking  my  promise  that's 
given,"  he  said.  He  waited  a  moment,  but  the 
girl  did  not  move,  or  show  by  any  sign  that  she 
had  heard  him.  "  I  can't  do  that,"  he  begged. 
His  voice  was  full  of  doubt  and  trouble.  "  ^can't 
do  that,  can  I  V"  The  girl  still  stood  motionless, 
and  then  shrugged  her  shoulders  slightly,  and 
turned  out  the  palms  of  her  hands.  Burke  drew 
a  long  breath,  and  straightened  himself  reso 
lutely. 

"  Good-by,"  said  Burke. 

She  put  her  hand  out  slowly,  and  barely  touched 
it  to  his  own,  and  then  walked  the  short  length  of 
the  bridge  away  from  him.  He  went  down  the 
ladder  and  over  the  side  without  looking  back 
again,  and  dropped  into  his  boat.  He  had  gone 
up  the  ladder  so  proudly  that  morning,  and  now 
the  world  and  all  the  world's  ways  seemed  ajar 
and  devious,  and  his  reason  neither  applauded 


THE    ROMANCE    OF    HEFTY    BURKE  193 

him  for  having  made  a  sacrifice,  nor  assured  him 
that  he  had  done  well. 

As  his  boat  rounded  the  bow  of  the  steamer,  a 
row-boat  shot  out  from  under  her  side,  and  its 
solitary  occupant  pulled  off  with  short,  quick 
strokes  for  the  shore.  It  was  the  sudden  sight  of 
Burke's  boat  and  the  sail  looming  white  in  the 
moonlight  that  had  startled  him,  and  Burke, 
recognizing  this,  called  to  him  to  stop.  The  oars 
man  answered  with  a  quicker  pull  on  the  oar,  and 
bowed  his  head  as  if  to  hide  his  face  from  obser 
vation.  Burke  shortened  sail,  and  in  a  moment 
drew  up  at  the  row-boat's  side.  "  Oh,  it's  you,  is 
it  ?"  he  said.  "  You  "  was  Mr.  "  Big  "  Marks. 

Mr.  Marks  was  the  proprietor  of  a  sailors'  lodg 
ing-house,  who  robbed  his  lodgers,  and  as  a  return 
helped  them  to  rob  their  vessels ;  who  smuggled 
in  a  small  way,  and  even,  it  is  said,  was  not  too 
proud  to  stoop  to  inform  on  other  gentlemen  who 
smuggled  in  a  larger  away. 

"Give  me  your  rope,"  commanded  Mr.  Burke. 
"  I'll  tow  ye  in." 

The  man  in  the  boat  sat  motionless.  "You 
needn't  mind  me,  Hefty,"  he  whined,  humbly. 
"  I'm  just  rowing  about ;  I  can  get  in  by  my 
self." 

Mr.  Burke  regarded  him  with  steady  scrutiny. 
"You're  lying,"  he  said;  "give  me  that  rope. 
Wot  was  ye  doing  under  the  bow  of  that  steamer? 
and,"  he  continued,  angrily,  "  wot  did  you  try  to 
get  away  from  me  so  fast  for  ?" 


194  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

Mr.  Marks  threw  him  his  painter,  and  crawled 
over  the  side  of  the  cat-boat.  "  One  of  my  men," 
he  began,  glibly  enough,  "is  on  the  Liverpool; 
he's  a  Swede  that's  a  regular  customer  of  mine 
when  he's  in  port.  I  just  rowed  out  to  see  him 
off.  They  get  away  in  an  hour  or  two." 

"In  an  hour,"  corrected  Burke.  He  looked 
back  at  the  steamer  with  heavy  eyes,  and  seemed 
for  the  moment  to  have  forgotten  his  sudden  ani 
mosity  towards  his  prisoner.  Seeing  which,  Mr. 
Marks  lit  a  cigar,  and  offered  another  with  a  pro 
pitiatory  smile  to  Burke. 

"  It's  good,"  he  said;  "  it's  never  seen  no  custom 
house." 

"  I'm  not  smoking,"  said  Burke,  grimly. 

"  Training  again,  hey  ?"  asked  Mr.  Marks,  pleas 
antly.  "  Well,  my  money  is  on  you  this  time,  and 
every  time.  There  ain't  none  of  'em  as  can 
touch  you — that's  what  ./say." 

Burke  made  no  reply  to  this,  but  gazed  at  his 
companion  with  stern  inquiry  and  with  troubled 
eyes.  He  did  not  speak  again  until  they  had 
reached  the  wharf,  and  then,  as  Mr.  Marks  started 
away  with  a  hasty  "good-night,"  he  called  sharply 
after  him  :  "  Come  back  here.  I  want  you." 

Mr.  Marks  hesitated,  and  then  turned,  and  wait 
ed  with  evident  uneasiness. 

"  You'll  come  and  take  a  drink,"  said  Burke. 

Mr.  Marks  fingered  the  cigar  in  his  hand  ner 
vously.  "I'd  like  to,  Hefty,"  he  said,  "but  another 
time.  I've  got  to  see  a  man  at  the  place.  I've 


THE    ROMANCE    OF    HEFTY    BURKE  195 

got  an  appointment  with  him.     Some  other  night 
—hey  ?     Got  to  hurry  now." 

"  I'll  go  with  you,"  said  Burke,  steadily. 

Mr.  Marks  looked  at  him  for  the  first  time  with 
sharp  scrutiny,  and  laughed  a  low,  comfortless 
laugh.  He  was  a  fat,  oily  person,  with  a  face 
reddened  by  drink  and  the  wind  of  the  river. 
Burke  towered  beside  him  as  they  walked  along, 
his  face  set  and  miserable.  From  one  place  to 
another  and  from  one  street  corner  to  the  next 
the  two  men  walked  and  halted.  Sometimes  to 
speak  to  an  acquaintance,  sometimes  to  order 
something  to  drink,  which  both  left  untasted  on 
the  bar.  As  the  hour  wore  on  the  nervousness 
of  the  older  man  became  obvious,  and  at  last,  in 
a  saloon  near  the  Battery,  he  slipped  quickly 
through  a  side  entrance  and  ran  into  the  night. 
The  next  moment  Burke  was  at  his  side. 

"Here,  you  had  better  not  try  that  on,"  he 
growled,  and  dropped  into  step  again. 

Mr.  Marks  stopped  and  drew  a  long  breath. 
"  Well,  you  make  me  tired,  Burke,"  he  said,  des 
perately.  It  was  his  first  sign  of  rebellion,  and 
Burke  welcomed  it.  "What  are  you  after,  hey?" 
Marks  demanded.  "What  is  it  going  to  be? 
You're  stopping  all  my  fun,"  he  went  on,  fiercely, 
"  and  you  don't  seem  to  be  getting  anything  out 
of  it  yourself.  What  do  you  want  of  me,  any 
way,  trailing  me  all  over  the  place  ?" 

They  were  at  the  end  of  a  pier  and  quite  alone. 
Burke  looked  about  him  carefully,  and  then  turned 


196  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

towards  the  water  where  the  Liverpool  lay,  a 
black,  dim  silhouette  in  the  moonlight.  The  night 
mist  was  rising  and  it  was  growing  colder.  The 
place  was  quite  deserted. 

"  Oh,"  said  Burke,  with  unaffected  carelessness, 
"I  don't  know  wot  you  are  up  to,  and  I'll  stay  by 
you  till  I  do.  That's  all." 

Mr.  Marks  regarded  him  with  fierce  suspicion, 
and  broke  the  silence  at  last  with  an  angry  oath. 
"I  suppose  you  want  me  to  divide  — hey?"  he 
cried,  viciously.  He  looked  at  his  watch,  and 
snapped  the  lid  with  a  sharp  click.  "  It's  that  or 
letting  it  all  go,"  he  said.  "  Curse  you  for  a  med 
dling  fool !"  He  stamped  his  feet  and  clinched 
his  fat  hands  impotently.  "  I'd  ha'  been  aboard 
her  by  this  time  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you." 

Burke  raised  his  eyes  slowly  towards  the  steam 
er,  and  saw  that  the  smoke  was  coming  out  of 
the  Liverpool^  funnel  in  a  thick  black  cloud.  It 
gave  his  heart  a  sudden  sharp  wrench,  and  he 
glanced  about  him  with  a  look  which  sobered  his 
companion  instantly. 

"See  here,  Hefty,  my  lad,"  he  whined,  in  a 
low,  conciliatory  tone,  "  we've  got  to  work  quick 
if  we're  going  to  stop  her.  They've  got  the 
anchors  up  now,  most  like.  Here,"  he  exclaimed, 
with  an  apparent  burst  of  generosity,  "  I'll  tell 
you  what  I'll  do.  I'll  go  halves  with  you — that's 
three  thousand  dollars  sure.  Three  thousand — 
think  of  that.  It's  a  fortune." 

Burke  regarded  him  with  a  look  of  slow  amaze- 


THE    ROMANCE    OF    HEFTY    BURKE  197 

ment.  "  Three  thousand  dollars,"  he  said,  stu 
pidly. 

"  Yes,  easy  that,"  begged  the  other.  "  There's 
twelve  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  stuff  on  her 
altogether,  counting  the  Hotchkiss  guns  and  the 
ammunition.  The  informer  gets  half.  That's  law. 
There's  no  getting  out  of  that.  It's  law.  They've 
(jot  to  give  it  to  you,  and  it's  honest  money,  too. 
What  right  have  them  half-breeds  coming  up 
here  involving  us  Americans  in  their  d d  rev 
olutions  ?  It's  against  the  courtesy  of  nations — 
that's  what  it  is.  I  read  it  all  up,and  I  know  what 
I'm  givin'  ye.  They  can't  do  it.  Look  at  the 
Alliance  case,  and  the  Mary  Miller.  Levy  got 
five  thousand  dollars  for  giving  her  away,  and 
I'd  ha'  pulled  six  thousand  out  of  this  if  you'd 
let  me  alone.  Well,  speak  up  ;  what  do  you 
say  ?" 

Burke  was  leaning  forward,  with  his  eyes 
staring  into  those  of  his  companion.  He  was 
breathing  heavily.  "  Wot  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 
he  asked,  quietly.  His  voice  was  low  and  uncer 
tain. 

Marks  caught  him  familiarly  by  the  sleeve. 
"  Do  ?"  he  asked,  trembling  with  excitement  ;  — 
"  go  to  the  Washington — she's  at  her  slip  there 
beyond  the  fire-boat — and  tell  the  captain  what 
we  know.  He  can  stop  her  before  she  reaches  the 
lower  bay,  and  he  may  if  he  believes  what  we 
say.  And  he  has  got  to  believe  me,  because  one 
of  the  crew  give  me  all  the  figures,  and  where 


198          THE  EXILES,  AND  OTHER  STORIES 

they  got  the  stuff,  and  who  paid  for  it.  It's  Al 
varez  himself,  the  brother  to  the  one  they  run  out 
of  the  country  —  him  as  wants  to  be  President. 
Come  !"  he  cried,  frantically,  and  dancing  from 
one  foot  to  the  other  in  his  excitement. 

But  Burke  stood  still,  regarding  him  stupidly. 
"  Three  thousand  dollars.  For  me,"  he  said.  "  I 
don't  understand." 

"  Hully  gee  !"  cried  the  other.  "  Don't  I  tell 
you  we  get  half  !  The  government  gets  one-half 
the  cargo  and  the  informer  gets  the  rest.  That's 
the  law.  Think  of  it  —  three  thousand  dollars  ! 
Why,  man  alive,  you  can  marry  on  that  ;  and  it's 
good  money  too,  come  by  honest  for  serving  your 
country.  Old  man  Casey  will  be  proud  of  you, 
Hefty — and — and  Mary  too,  hey,  she — " 

"  Shut  up  !"  said  Burke,  savagely.  He  glanced 
with  a  troubled  look  to  where  the  revenue-cutter 
Washington  lay  at  the  end  of  the  Barge  Office 
dock.  It  was  so  very  near.  He  stood  rigid, 
breathing  quickly,  and  with  only  his  fingers 
working  at  his  side.  The  other  watched  him 
with  evil,  wide-open  eyes.  Then  Burke  gave  a 
short  gasp  of  relief,  and,  reaching  out  suddenly, 
caught  Marks  by  the  sleeve.  "  Come  with  me,"  he 
said,  steadily.  "  Come  over  here  and  sit  down." 

"  Sit  down  ?  Like  hell  !"  cried  the  the  other 
fearfully.  "  What  ails  you  ?  Don't  you  see  she's 
got  steam  on  now?  She'll  be  out  of  the  river 
before — " 

"You're   not  going  to   the  Washington"  said 


THE    ROMANCE    OF    HEFTY    BURKE  199 

Burke.  "You're  not  going  to  give  nothing  away. 
You  are  going  to  stay  here  with  me.  There's 
—  there's  friends  of  mine  on  board  that  boat. 
They're  not  hurting  you,  and  you're  not  going  to 
hurt  them,  nor  interfere  with  them  neither — see  ? 
You'll  stay  right  here."  Mr.  Marks1  s  face  was 
black,  and  the  muscles  working  with  excitement 
and  the  fear  of  losing  what  he  already  considered 
his.  "  I  mean,"  said  Burke,  firmly,  "  that  you're 
going  to  stay  here  until  that  boat  gets  out  of  the 
harbor,  till  she  gets  clean  off.  Do  you  under 
stand  ?  That's  wot  I  mean." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  other,  softly,  "  that's  what  you 
mean,  is  it?" 

He  jerked  his  sleeve  away,  and  his  arm  rose 
suddenly  in  the  air,  and  Burke  caught  it  by  the 
wrist  and  tripped  him  up  with  a  quick  jerk  that 
threw  him  heavily  over  on  his  back.  Burke  threw 
himself  on  his  chest  and  wrenched  at  the  knife  in 
his  hand. 

"  You  would,  would  you,"  he  said,  under  his 
breath.  "Give  it  up— do  you  hear?  Give  it  up," 
he  growled,  «  or  I'll—" 

The  fat  little  man  beneath  him  groaned  and 
struggled  helplessly  under  his  weight.  "  Let  me 
up,"  he  gasped,  "  I'm  choking — let  me  up." 

Burke  tossed  the  knife  into  the  river,  and  set 
tled  his  fingers  carefully  round  the  other's  throat. 
"  Lie  still,"  he  whispered.  "  If  you  yell  or  noth 
ing  I'll  choke  the  life  out  of  you  and  leave  you 
lying  here — " 


200  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

But  even  as  he  uttered  this  threat  Mr.  Burke 
raised  his  eyes  to  the  bay,  and  gave  a  soft  low 
cry.  The  smoke  was  pouring  in  a  black  mass 
from  the  funnel  of  the  Liverpool,  and  as  he 
watched  her  she  started  slowly  forward,  as  a 
sled  slides  over  the  ice,  and  then  moved  more 
and  more  swiftly  until  the  smoke  stood  out  in  a 
straight  line  and  she  grew  less  and  less  distinct, 
until,  after  passing  the  base  of  the  great  statue  of 
Liberty,  she  disappeared  into  the  mist  and  out  of 
his  sight  forever. 

The  man  beneath  him  groaned  feebly  and 
cursed  him  under  his  breath. 

"  You  can  get  up,"  said  Burke,  gently,  with 
his  eyes  still  staring  into  the  mist.  "  She's  gone 


AN  ANONYMOUS  LETTER 

"  SILLY  sort  of  a  play,  I  call  it,"  said  Van  Bib 
ber,  as  they  left  the  theatre. 

"I  don't  know,"  his  friend  dissented,  slowly. 
"  Why  ?" 

"Well,  about  that  letter,  for  instance,"  Van 
Bibber  continued.  "  The  idea  of  a  girl  throwing 
a  man  over  like  that  just  because  some  one  sent 
her  an  anonymous  letter  about  him!  Of  course, 
if  she'd  really  cared  for  the  man  she'd  have  given 
him  a  chance  to  explain;  she  wouldn't  have  be 
lieved  it  at  once.  Still,"  he  added,  magnanimous 
ly,  "  if  she  had  asked  him  about  it  there  wouldn't 
have  been  any  more  play.  The  author  had  to  do 
something." 

But  Travers  disagreed.  "  Oh,  I  don't  know," 
he  said.  "  I  think  it's  very  true  to  life  myself. 
I  know  I'd  hate  to  have  any  one  writing  letters 
like  that  about  me." 

Van  Bibber  laughed  easily  "Nice  sort  of 
friends  you  have,"  he  said. 

"  They're  your  friends." 

"Some  of  them  are,"  Van  Bibber  corrected; 
"but  I  think  better  of  them  than  you  do,  appar 
ently.  I'm  sure  I'm  willing  you  should  write  all 


202  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER   STORIES 

the  anonymous  letters  to  them  you  please  about 
me." 

"That,"  said  Travers,  mockingly,  "is  because 
you're  so  good." 

"Not  at  all,"  Van  Bibber  answered,  hotly. 
"It  isn't  whether  the  letter  told  the  truth;  the 
point  is  that  the  girl  is  willing  to  believe  it. 
That's  what  I  object  to.  That's  where  the  chap 
who  wrote  the  play  shows  that  he  doesn't  know 
anything  about  women." 

"  Well,  as  I  said,"  Travers  repeated,  stubbornly, 
"I  think  you  are  altogether  wrong.  She  acted 
just  as  any  of  the  girls  we  know  would  have 
acted,  and,  as  I  said,  I  should  hate  to  have  any 
one  write  a  letter  like  that  to  my  friends." 

"  And  as  I  said,"  reiterated  Van  Bibber,  warm 
ly?  "  y°u  can  write  all  the  letters  you  choose  about 
me,  and  my  friends  can  stand  it,  and  so  can  I." 

Travers  stopped  and  looked  back  over  his  shoul 
der  as  they  mounted  the  steps  of  the  club.  "  Do 
you  mean  that  ?"  he  asked,  seriously. 

"  I  do,"  said  Van  Bibber,  laughing.  Then  they 
went  into  the  club,  and  scowled  at  all  the  other 
men  as  though  they  were  intruders,  and  talked 
about  deviled  kidneys. 

Van  Bibber  slept  peacefully  that  night  in  spite 
of  the  deviled  kidneys,  but  Travers  sat  up  until 
late  composing  an  anonymous  letter,  which  he 
hoped  would  fall  like  a  bomb-shell  into  the  camp 
of  his  friends.  The  morning  found  him  still  in 
tent  upon  it  and  mischief,  and  by  the  time  he  had 


AN    ANONYMOUS    LETTER  203 

finished  breakfast  his  plans  of  campaign  were  al 
ready  made. 

He  first  went  to  a  type- writer  in  one  of  the  big 
hotels,  and  dictated  four  letters  to  him  announc 
ing  the  date  of  a  women's  meeting  for  a  charita 
ble  purpose.  The  envelopes  for  these  were  ad 
dressed  to  four  different  women.  He  tore  up  the 
letters  when  he  reached  the  street,  but  put  the 
envelopes  with  their  non-committal  type-written 
addresses  in  his  pocket.  On  Sixth  Avenue  he 
purchased  a  half-dozen  sheets  of  cheap  paper,  and 
carried  them  to  his  room,  where  he  locked  himself 
in,  and  wrote  with  his  left  hand,  on  four  separate 
sheets,  the  following  communication: 

"  DEAR  MADAM, — When  Mr.  Van  Bibber  calls 
on  you  again,  ask  him  how  well  he  knows  Maysie 
Lindsey.  If  he  denies  knowing  her,  ask  him  to 
show  you  the  tintype  of  the  woman  which  he 
wears  in  a  locket  on  a  chain  about  his  neck. 

"A  FRIEND." 

"There,"  said  Travers,  proudly,  "  I  think  that 
is  calculated  to  spread  doubt  and  confusion  in  the 
stoutest  heart."  He  put  the  letters  in  the  enve 
lopes  with  'the  type-written  addresses,  and  posted 
them  that  same  morning.  Then  he  wrote  to  Van 
Bibber,  and  told  him  of  what  he  had  done. 

"  And  I  call  it  a  piece  of  damned  impertinence," 
said  that  gentleman  that  same  evening. 

"You're    afraid    now,"    said    Travers,    easily. 


204  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

"  Last  night  you  could  trust  your  friends  better 
than  I  could;  now  you're  afraid." 

"  That's  not  it,"  said  Van  Bibber.  "  I  can  trust 
them.  I  don't  care  what  you  said  about  we,  but 
by  sending  letters  like  that  to  those  girls  you 
intimated  that  they  take  an  interest  in  me,  that 
they  are  more  or  less  concerned  about  me,  which 
is  a  piece  of  presumption  I  wouldn't  be  guilty  of 
myself,  and  a  thing  which  you  had  no  business  to 
assume.  Suppose  they  find  out  that  you  wrote 
those  letters,  they'll  ask  me:  'Why  did  he  send 
one  to  me  ?  What  have  I  to  do  with  you  ?  Why 
should  I  care  what  women  you  know  or  don't 
know  ?'  It  was  impertinent  to  them,  that's  what 
I  say.  You  can  leave  me  out  of  it  entirely,  but 
you  had  no  business  to  put  them  in  the  light  of 
caring  about  me." 

"But  they  do  care  about  you,  don't  they?" 
Travers  asked,  innocently. 

"That's  not  for  me  to  say,  nor  you.  I'm 
ashamed  of  you.  Practical  joking  is  all  very 
well  between  idiots  like  ourselves,  but  you  had 
no  business  to  drag  women  into  it." 

"  Well,"  sighed  Travers,  "  you  can't  make  me 
rude  by  being  rude  yourself,  you  know.  You 
told  me  distinctly  that  I  could  write  the  letter, 
and  I  have  written  it,  and  if  you've  any  confi 
dence  in  your  friends  you  will  do  nothing  about  it, 
but  let  them  work  it  out  their  own  way.  I  call  it 
a  most  excellent  test  of  their  confidence.  You 
ought  to  be  obliged  to  me  for  giving  you  such  a 


AN    ANONYMOUS    LETTER  205 

chance  of  finding  out  what  dear  good  friends  you 
have." 

"I  shall  treat  the  whole  thing  with  absolute 
contempt,  as  they  will,"  said  Van  Bibber,  stiffly. 
"It  is  beneath  my  notice,  and  so  are  you.  May- 
sie  Lindsey,  indeed !  Who  the  devil  is  Maysie 
Lindsey  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Travers,  pleasantly.  "  She 
is  merely  a  beautiful  creature  of  my  imagination. 
Rather  pretty  name,  I  think,  don't  you  ? — Maysie 
Lindsey."  Then  he  asked,  with  a  touch  of  mis 
giving,  "You  don't  happen  to  wear  anything 
around  your  neck,  do  you  ?" 

"  Certainly  not,  confound  you  !"  said  Van  Bib 
ber. 

Van  Bibber  had  as  large  a  nodding  acquaintance 
with  men  in  New  York  as  almost  any  other  man 
in  it,  but  the  women  he  knew  were  not  so  many 
and  much  more  near.  The  four  women  of  whom 
he  saw  the  most  were  those  to  whom  Travers  had 
sent  the  anonymous  letters.  He  was  in  the  habit 
of  seeing  them  at  their  own  houses  and  at  other 
people's  houses  as  often  as  once  a  week  or  more 
frequently,  and  he  decided  that  instead  of  writing 
them  at  once,  and  explaining  that  a  friend  of  his 
had  sent  them  an  anonymous  letter  about  him, 
and  that  he  begged  that  they  would  overlook  the 
impertinence,  he  would  wait  until  he  saw  them 
and  then  explain  the  situation  verbally.  But  as 
the  week  wore  on,  the  temptation  to  let  the  mat 
ter  take  its  course  got  the  better  of  his  first  de- 


206  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

termination,  and  his  curiosity  and  his  desire  to  see 
just  how  far  his  friends  trusted  him  overcame  his 
original  purpose  of  setting  things  right. 

Mrs.  "  Jimmy "  Floyd  was  from  one  of  the 
Western  cities  ;  she  had  married  Floyd  while 
abroad  and  had  entered  into  the  life  of  New  York 
with  all  the  zeal  and  enthusiasm  of  a  new  con 
vert.  She  had  adapted  herself  to  her  surround- 
\ings,  though  she  had  not  herself  been  adopted. 
But  now  she  was  undoubtedly  an  important  per 
sonage,  and  very  many  people  paid  court  to  her, 
not  for  herself  so  much  as  for  what  she  could  do 
for  them.  There  were  a  number  of  men  to  whom 
she  was  at  home  every  day  after  five,  and  Van 
Bibber  came  to  see  her  then  very  frequently.  She 
knew  him  well  enough  to  ask  him  to  fill  a  place 
when  some  one  had  failed  her,  and  he  thought  her 
amusing,  but  only  that.  He  had  a  youthful  hor 
ror  of  having  it  thought  that  he  was  attached  to 
married  women,  and  made  it  a  rule  to  come  late 
in  the  afternoon  and  to  be  among  the  first  tp  go. 
Owing  to  this  no  one  had  ever  found  him  or  left 
him  with  Mrs.  Floyd,  and  the  men,  especially  those 
whom  he  allowed  to  outstay  him,  were  grateful  to 
him  in  consequence.  Her  drawing-room  was  a 
place  for  gossip,  and  Van  Bibber  told  her  once 
that  he  came  because  it  saved  him  from  reading 
the  papers,  and  that  if  she  would  fine  herself  a 
penny  every  time  she  or  her  friends  said  "  I  sup 
pose  you  have  heard,"  she  would  be  able  to  pay 
for  a  box  at  the  Horse  Show  with  the  money.  He 


AN    ANONYMOUS    LETTER  207 

called  there  a  week  after  Travers  had  sent  forth 
his  letters,  and  found  her  for  the  first  time  alone. 
When  she  nodded  to  him  brightly,  and  told  the 
servant  in  the  same  breath  that  she  was  not  at 
home  to  any  one  else,  Van  Bibber  smiled  grimly 
to  himself  and  regarded  her  with  a  masklike 
countenance.  He  saw  that  he  had  been  trapped 
into  a  tete-a-tete,  and  that  one  of  the  letters  had 
evidently  reached  the  home  of  the  Floyds. 

Mrs.  Floyd's  attitude  as  she  sank  back  in  her 
cushions  was  an  unsettled  one,  and  her  whole  man 
ner  expressed  pleasurable  expectancy.  Her  visit 
or  observed  this  with  amused  disapprobation,  but 
as  she  seemed  so  happy  in  believing  what  she  had 
read  of  him,  he  thought  it  would  be  rather  a  pity 
to  spoil  her  enjoyment  of  it  by  telling  her  the 
truth. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  and  what  have  you  been  do 
ing  with  yourself  lately  ?"  She  spoke  quite  gay- 
ly,  as  though  her  recently  acquired  knowledge  of 
him  gave  to  whatever  he  might  have  to  say  a  fresh 
interest. 

Van  Bibber  observed  this  also  with  a  cynical 
sense  of  amusement,  and  saw  that  she  had  placed 
him  under  the  light  of  a  standing  lamp,  which 
threw  his  face  into  strong  relief,  while  hers  was 
in  shadow.  "  Just,"  as  he  said  later  to  Travers, 
"  as  though  she  were  keeping  a  private  detective 
agency."  The  talk  between  Mrs.  Floyd  and  her 
visitor  ran  on  unevenly.  She  was  eager  to  ques 
tion  him,  and  yet  afraid  of  being  too  precipitate, 


208  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

and  he  was  standing  on  his  guard.  At  last  some 
thing  he  said  of  a  young  Frenchman  visiting  the 
city  seemed  to  give  her  the  chance  she  wanted. 

"  Oh  yes,"  she  commented,  indifferently,  "  I  re 
member  him  at  Homburg.  He  is  rather  a  senti 
mental  youth,  I  fancy.  He  wears  a  bangle,  and 
a  chain  around  his  neck.  We  could  see  them 
when  he  played  tennis." 

Van  Bibber  gazed  thoughtfully  into  the  open 
fire.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  politely. 

Mrs.  Floyd  looked  at  the  fire  also.  She  was 
afraid  she  had  begun  too  clumsily,  and  yet  she 
still  continued  recklessly  in  the  same  opening. 
"  It  is  rather  feminine  in  a  man,  I  think  ,  not  un 
manly  exactly,  either,  but  rather  a  pose,  like  writ 
ing  in  a  diary.  You  pretend  that  you  write  it 
without  thinking  of  any  one's  seeing  what  you 
have  written,  but  you  always  have  the  possibility 
in  your  mind,  don't  you  ?  And  men  always  know 
that  some  day  some  one  will  see  their  bangle 
or  their  locket.  They  think  it  gives  them  a 
mysterious  or  sentimental  interest.  Don't  you 
think  so  ?" 

Van  Bibber  changed  his  gaze  from  the  fire  to 
the  point  of  his  shoe,  and  then,  as  an  idea  came 
to  him  suddenly,  smiled  wickedly.  He  looked  up 
as  quickly  to  see  if  Mrs.  Floyd  had  noticed  his 
change  of  expression,  and  then  relapsed  into  gloom 
again.  "  The  only  man  I  know  who  goes  in  for 
that  sort  of  thing,"  he  said,  "  is  Travers.  Travers 
wears  a  gold  chain  around  Ms  neck,  and  he  keeps  it 


AN    ANONYMOUS    LETTER  209 

on  all  the  time.  I've  seen  it  at  the  Racquet  Club. 
There  is  a  picture  of  a  girl  on  one  side,  a  tintype, 
and  on  the  other,  two  initials  in  diamonds.  The 
initials  are  M.  L." 

"  M.  L.  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Floyd,  confusedly. 

"  In  diamonds,"  added  Van  Bibber,  impressive- 

iy. 

"  M.  L.  in  diamonds  !  Why,"  Mrs.  Floyd  ex 
claimed,  "that's  —  "and  then  correcting  herself 
midway,  she  added,  tamely,  "that's  very  curious." 

"  Curious  ?"  asked  Van  Bibber,  politely.  "  Why 
curious  ?  They're  not  your  initials,  are  they  ?" 

"  I  was  told,"  said  Mrs.  Floyd,  seriously,  "  that 
is — some  one  told  me,"  she  began  again,  "  that  you 
wore  a  locket  just  like  that  around  your  neck." 

"  Fancy  !"  said  Van  Bibber,  with  a  gasp  of 
amusement.  "  Who  told  you  that,  if  I  may  ask  ?" 

"No  one  that  you  know,"  Mrs.  Floyd  replied, 
hastily.  "  But  he  must  have  confused  you  two  ; 
don't  you  suppose  that  is  it  ?  It  is  because  you 
are  so  fhuch  together." 

"  Told  you  I  wore  a  locket  around  my  neck  ?" 
repeated  Van  Bibber,  with  some  severity.  "  How 
absurd  !  It  is  very  evident  that  he  has  mixed  us 
up.  We  don't  look  much  alike,  do  we  ?  Perhaps 
he  saw  us  at  a  Turkish  bath.  Every  man  looks 
like  every  other  one  when  he  is  wrapped  in  a  cloud 
of  steam  and  a  bath  robe.  Only  the  other  day  I 
took  old  man  Willis  for  an  attendant,  and  told 
him  to  hurry  up  my  coffee.  I  suppose  that's  how 
it  happened.  You  had  better  ask  Travers  about 


210  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STOKIES 

it  next  time  he  comes  and  see  what  he  says.  He'K 
deny  it,  probably  ;  but  I  assure  you  I  have  seen 
it ;  so  you  can  charge  him  with  it  with  perfect 
safety." 

Mrs.  Floyd  looked  at  Van  Bibber  doubtfully 
for  a  moment,  but  he  returned  her  look  with  a 
smile  of  such  evident  innocence  that  she  smiled 
in  return,  and  then  they  both  laughed  together. 

"And  I  thought  it  was  you  all  the  time,"  she 
said.  "  What  an  odd  mistake  !" 

"Very  humorous  indeed,"  said  Van  Bibber. 
He  rose,  and  Mrs.  Floyd  made  no  effort  to  detain 
him.  Her  suddenly  acquired  interest  in  him  had 
departed.  "  Don't  forget  the  initials,"  said  Van 
Bibber. 

"I  shall  not,"  Mrs.  Floyd  answered,  laughing. 
"I  shall  remember." 

"  And  in  diamonds,  too,"  added  Van  Bibber,  as 
he  bowed  at  the  door. 

Miss  Townsend  was  a  young  woman  who  took 
everything  in  life  seriously  but  herself.  She  was 
irritatingly  but  sincerely  humble  when  her  own 
personality  was  concerned,  and  was  given  to  con 
sidering  herself  an  unworthy  individual  only  fit 
to  admire  the  actions  of  real  personages.  She  re 
ceived  deserved  compliments  either  mockingly  or 
as  sarcasms  at  her  expense,  and  made  her  friends 
indignant  by  waxing  enthusiastic  over  people 
whom  they  did  not  consider  one-fourth  as  worthy 
of  such  enthusiasm  as  she  was  herself.  She  was  a 


AN    ANONYMOUS    LETTER  211 

very  loyal  friend,  and  when  she  was  with  Van  Bib 
ber  had  the  tact  not  to  talk  of  those  things  which 
might  be  beyond  his  reach.  Still,  when  she  did 
venture  with  him  on  those  matters  of  life  and 
conscience  and  conduct  which  most  interested  her, 
she  found  his  common-sense  and  his  sense  of  hu 
mor  vastly  disturbing  to  her  theories.  She  re 
ceived  him  this  afternoon  with  a  preoccupied  air, 
which  continued  until  her  mother,  who  had  been 
with  her  when  he  had  entered,  had  left  the  room. 

"I  do  not  know  how  soon  I  shall  have  the 
chance  to  see  you  alone  again,"  she  began  at  once, 
"and  I  have  something  to  say  to  you.  I  have 
thought  it  over  for  some  time,  and  I  have  con 
sidered  it  very  seriously  ;  I  think  I  am  doing  the 
right  thing,  but  I  cannot  tell." 

Van  Bibber  wanted  to  assure  her  that  it  was 
not  to  be  taken  seriously,  and  felt  fresh  indigna 
tion  that  she  should  have  been  troubled  so  impu 
dently.  But  he  only  said  "  yes,"  sympathetically, 
and  waited. 

"  I  want  to  ask  you,"  she  said,  regarding  him 
with  earnest  eyes,  "  if  you  know  that  you  have  an 
enemy." 

Van  Bibber  bit  his  lips  to  hide  a  smile,  and  felt 
even  more  ashamed  of  himself  for  smiling.  "  Oh 
dear,  no,"  he  said,  "  of  course  not.  We  don't  have 
enemies  nowadays,  do  we  ?  There  are  lots  of  peo 
ple  who  don't  like  one,  I  suppose  ;  but  enemies 
went  out  of  date  long  ago,  with  poisoned  cups  and 
things  like  that,  didn't  they  ?" 


212  THE    EXILES,    AND    OTHER    STORIES 

"  No  ;  you  are  wrong,"  she  said.  "  There  is 
some  one  who  dislikes  you  very  much,  who  wants 
to  injure  you  with  your  friends,  and  who  goes 
about  doing  it  in  a  mean  and  cowardly  way.  In 
so  low  a  way  that  I  should  not  notice  it  at  all ; 
and  then  again  I  think  that  it  is  my  duty  to  tell 
you  of  it,  so  that  you  can  be  on  $our  guard,  and 
that  you  may  act  about  it  in  whatever  way  you 
think  right.  That  is  what  I  have  been  trying  to 
decide  :  whether  I  am  a  better  friend  if  I  say  noth 
ing,  or  whether  I  ought  to  speak  and  warn  you." 
She  stopped,  quite  breathless  with  anxiety,  and 
Van  Bibber  felt  himself  growing  red.  "  What  do 
you  think  ?"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Van  Bibber,  unhap 
pily.  "  Suppose  you  tell  me  all  about  it.  Of 
course,  whatever  you  do  would  be  the  right 
thing,"  he  added.  She  put  her  hand  in  the 
pocket  of  her  frock,  and  drew  out  a  letter  with 
a  type-written  address.  Van  Bibber  anathema 
tized  Travers  anew  at  the  sight  of  it. 

"  Last  week,"  Miss  Townsend  began,  impres 
sively,  "  I  received  this  letter.  It  is  an  anony 
mous  letter  about  you.  What  it  says  does  not 
concern  me  or  interest  me  in  the  least.  That  is 
what  I  want  you  to  understand.  No  matter  what 
was  said  of  one  of  my  friends,  if  it  came  to  me  in 
such  a  way,  it  could  not  make  the  least  difference 
to  me.  Of  course  I  would  not  for  an  instant  con 
sider  anything  from  such  a  source,  but  the  point, 
in  my  mind,  is  that  some  one  is  trying  to  do  you 


AN   ANONYMOUS    LETTER  213 

harm,  and  that  it  is  my  duty  to  let  you  know  of 
it.  Do  you  understand  ?"  Van  Bibber  guiltily 
bowed  his  head  in  assent.  "  Then  here  it  is,"  she 
said,  handing  him  the  offensive  letter  as  though  it 
were  a  wet  and  dirty  rag.  "  Don't  open  it  here, 
and  never  speak  to  me  of  it  again.  If  you  did — 
if  you  explained  it  or  anything,  I  would  feel  that 
you  did  not  believe  me  when  I  say  that  I  believe 
in  you,  and  that  I  only  speak  of  this  thing  at  all 
because  I  want  to  put  you  on  your  guard.  Some 
man,  or  some  woman  more  likely,  has  written  this 
to  hurt  you  with  me.  He  or  she  has  failed.  That 
is  the  point  I  want  you  to  remember,  and  I  hope 
I  have  done  right  in  speaking  of  it  to  you.  And 
now,"  she  exclaimed  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  and 
with  a  sudden  wave  of  her  hands,  as  if  she  were 
throwing  something  away,  "  that  is  over." 

Van  Bibber's  first  impulse  was  to  put  the  letter 
in  the  fire,  and  tell  her  the  truth  about  it;  but  his 
second  thought  was  that  this  girl  had  for  a  week 
been  considering  as  to  how  she  could  act  in  his 
best  interest,  and  that  to  show  her  now  that  she 
had  been  made  a  joke  of  would  be  but  a  poor  re 
turn  of  her  thoughtfulness  of  him.  So  he  placed 
the  letter  in  his  pocket,  and  thanked  her  for  her 
warning,  and  sincerely  for  her  confidence,  and 
went  away.  And  as  he  left  the  house  his  sense 
of  pleasure  in  the  thought  that  his  friend  trusted 
him  was  mixed  with  an  unholy  desire  to  lay  hands 
upon  Travers.  He  determined  to  end  and  clear 
up  the  matter  that  afternoon,  at  once  and  for- 


214  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER   STORIES 

ever,  and  with  that  object  in  view  took  a  hansom 
to  the  house  of  Miss  Edith  Sargent. 

Miss  Sargent  was  a  friend  of  both  Travers  and 
himself.  She  was  an  unusual  girl,  and  the  fact  that 
she  was  equally  liked  by  men  and  women  proved 
it.  She  frequently  regretted  she  had  not  been 
born  a  boy,  and  tried  to  correct  this  injustice  by 
doing  certain  things  better  than  most  men  could 
do  them,  and  so  gained  their  admiration.  Van 
Bibber  agreed  with  her  that  it  was  a  pity  that  she 
was  not  a  man,  as,  so  he  explained  it,  there  were 
too  few  attractive  men,  while  there  were  so  many 
attractive  women  that  it  kept  him  continually  in 
trouble.  Miss  Sargent  was  the  president  of  a  so 
ciety  for  the  lower  education  of  women,  the  mem 
bers  of  which  were  required  to  know  as  much 
about  polo  as  they  did  of  symbolic  and  impres 
sionist  pictures,  and  were  able  to  keep  quite  sepa 
rate  the  popular  violinist  or  emotional  actress  of 
the  day  as  a  person  from  the  same  individual  as 
an  artist ;  they  did  not  sob  over  the  violinist's 
rendering  of  music  which  some  one  else  had  writ 
ten,  on  one  afternoon,  and  then  ask  him  to  tea 
the  next.  They  did  not  live  on  their  nerves  or 
on  their  feelings,  but  on  their  very  rich  fathers, 
on  whom  they  drew  heavily  for  gowns,  hunters, 
and  pianos,  on  which  last  they  could  play  passa 
bly  well  themselves. 

Travers,  it  was  believed,  was  sentimentally  con 
tent  that  Edith  Sargent  had  been  born  a  girl,  and 
spoke  of  her  as  Miss  Sargent,  and  not  as  Edith 


AN    ANONYMOUS    LETTER  215 

Sargent,  as  the  other  men  did.     Van  Bibber  con 
sidered  this  a  very  dangerous  sign. 

Miss  Edith  Sargent  was  getting  out  of  her 
brougham  as  Van  Bibber  drew  up  in  his  han 
som.  She  greeted  him  brightly  with  a  nod,  and 
told  him  that  she  was  half  frozen,  and  that  he 
was  just  in  time  for  some  tea.  He  waited  until 
she  gave  some  directions  to  the  footman  for  the 
evening  and  then  walked  up  the  steps  beside  her. 

"You've  saved  me  from  writing  you  a  note," 
she  said.  "  I  wanted  to  see  you  about  getting  up 
a  coaching-party  for  the  game  on  Thanksgiving 
Day.  Do  you  think  it's  too  late  ?" 

Van  Bibber  observed  her  covertly,  but  she  did 
not  seem  to  be  conscious  of  anything  beyond 
what  she  was  saying,  and  regarded  him  frankly 
and  without  embarrassment.  He  decided  that 
she  had  not  received  the  letter,  and  felt  a  tempo 
rary  sense  of  relief. 

"  It  is  rather  late,"  he  said  ;  "  most  of  the 
coaches  are  engaged  so  far  ahead,  you  know ;  but 
we  might  be  able  to  get  a  private  one." 

They  walked  into  the  drawing-room  together, 
and  she  threw  her  sable  boa  and  muff  on  the  di 
van  and  went  to  the  fire  to  warm  her  fingers. 

"Whom  could  we  ask?"  she  said.  Van  Bib 
ber  was  regarding  her  so  intently  that  she  stopped 
and  looked  up  at  him  curiously.  "  Whom  could 
we  ask  ?"  she  repeated,  and  added,  after  a  pause, 
"  You're  not  listening  to  what  I'm  saying." 


216  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STOEIES 

They  continued  looking  at  each  other  for  a 
short  moment,  and  then  the  girl,  with  a  sudden 
exclamation  of  intelligence,  walked  back  into  the 
library  beyond,  returning  with  an  envelope  in  her 
hand.  Van  Bibber  saw  that  the  address  upon  it 
was  type-written. 

"  Here's  that  letter  you  and  Travers  sent  me," 
she  said.  She  put  it  in  his  hand  and  left  him 
standing  gazing  dumbly  down  at  it,  while  she 
returned  to  the  open  fire  and  stretched  her  fingers 
out  before  it.  As  he  continued  silent,  she  turned 
and  looke^J  over  her  shoulder  at  him,  and  then, 
as  she  caught  his  look  of  embarrassment,  laughed 
easily  at  the  sight  of  it.  "  Don't  you  think,"  she 
said,  "  it's  about  time  you  two  became  accustomed 
to  the  fact  that  you  have  grown  up  ?" 

Van  Bibber  gazed  at  her  blankly  and  shook  his 
head.  "  Travers  told  you,"  he  said,  ruefully. 

"  Travers  told  me  !"  she  repeated  with  dis 
dain.  "  You  both  told  me.  I  do  hope  I've  in 
telligence  enough  to  keep  up  with  you  two  and 
your  games  and  foolishnesses.  There's  no  one 
else  who  would  do  anything  so  silly."  She 
laughed  a  triumphant,  mocking  laugh.  "  You  and 
your  Maysie  Lindsey  and  gold  lockets,  you're  a 
pretty  trio,  aren't  you?  And  you  thought  you 
were  going  to  have  such  a  fine  joke  on  me.  Oh, 
you're  so  clever,  you  two ;  you're  so  deep  and 
subtle.  How  long  have  you  ceased  wearing  vel 
vet  suits  and  red  sashes  ?" 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  Van   Bibber,  sulkily, 


AN    ANONYMOUS   LETTEK  217 

"  but  I  want  you  to  know  I've  had  trouble  enough 
about  this  thing,  and  it's  all  Travers' — " 

"  There  is  some  other  game,  perhaps,"  she  said, 
nodding  her  head  at  him,  "  that  you  play  better 
than  this." 

"  Oh,  I'm  going,"  said  Van  Bibber.  He  stopped 
at  the  door  and  shook  his  high  hat  at  her  impres 
sively.  "  If  you  have  any  regard  for  your  young 
friend  Travers,"  he  said,  "  you'd  better  send  him 
word  to  keep  out  of  my  way  for  a  week  or  two." 

"Wait  and  have  some  tea,"  she  called  after 
him,  but  Van  Bibber  pulled  open  the  %ont  door, 
and  as  he  did  so  heard  an  echo  of  mocking  laugh 
ter  and  something  that  sounded  like  "Give  my 
love  to  Maysie  Lindsey." 

There  was  still  one  other  girl  to  see,  and  Van 
Bibber  kicked  viciously  at  the  snow  at  the  thought 
of  it  as  he  strode  hurriedly  towards  her  house. 
He  wished  that  he  might  find  her  out;  but  she 
was  in,  the  man  said,  and  she  herself  said  that 
she  was  glad  to  see  him. 

Miss   Norries  was  a  peculiarly  beautiful  girl, 
who  almost  succeeded  in  living  in  a  way  that  was  \ 
worthy  of  her  face.     If  she  did  not  do  so,  it  was  i 
not  through  lack  of  effort  on  her  own  part.     And 
yet  to  others  there  seemed  to  be  no  effort ;  people 
said  of  her  that  she  had  been  born  fine  and  good, 
and  could  not  be  otherwise  had  she  tried.     "  It 
is  only  we  poor  souls  who  know  what  tempta 
tion  is,"  they  said,  "  that  deserve  credit  for  over 
coming  it.     Grace  Norries  always  does  the  right 

IS 


218  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

thing  because  she  doesn't  know  there  is  any  other 
thing  to  do." 

But  Miss  Norries  had  her  own  difficulties.  She 
had  once  said  to  Van  Bibber,  "  The  trouble  is  that 
there  are  so  many  standards,  even  among  one's 
best  friends,  among  the  people  that  you  respect 
most,  that  it  makes  it  hard  to  keep  to  one's  own." 

To  which  Van  Bibber  had  replied,  flippantly : 
"  You  have  no  right  to  complain.  All  you  have 
to  do  when  you  get  up  in  the  morning  is  to  look 
in  the  glass  and  say,  '  To-day  I  must  live  up  to 
that?  It's  a  pretty  high  standard  to  live  up  to, 
I  know,  but  it's  all  your  own."  At  which  Miss 
Norries  had  gazed  coldly  at  nothing,  and  Van 
Bibber  had  wished  he  had  not  complimented  her 
on  the  one  thing  for  which  she  could  not  possibly 
take  any  credit. 

She  received  him  now  graciously,  as  a  much 
older  woman  might  have  done,  but  told  him  he 
could  not  stay,  as  she  had  to  dress  for  dinner. 

"It  won't  take  long  to  say  what  I  came  to 
say,"  Van  Bibber  answered  her.  "  I  came  on 
purpose  to  say  it,  though.  It's  rather  serious — 
at  least,  it  didn't  start  out  so,  but  it's  getting 
serious."  He  did  not  look  at  her,  but  at  the  fire, 
as  though  he  were  trying  to  draw  confidence  from 
it.  But  his  anxiety  was  unnecessary,  for  Miss 
Norries  regarded  him  tranquilly  and  without  loss 
of  her  usual  poise.  She  was  always  ready  to 
laugh  with  those  who  laughed,  or  to  weep  with 
those  who  wept,  giving  out  just  enough  of  her 


AN    ANONYMOUS    LETTER  219 

own  personality  to  make  her  sympathy  of  value, 
and  yet  never  allowing  it  to  carry  her  away. 

"Perhaps,"  said  Van  Bibber,  with  a  sudden 
inspiration,  "  you  have  something  to  say  to  me." 

"  No,  I  don't  know  that  I  have,"  the  girl  an 
swered,  considering.  "  Has  anything  happened  ? 
I  mean,  is  there  anything  I  ought  to  speak  about 
that  I  haven't  ?  Are  you  to  be  congratulated  or 
condoled  with  ?  Is  that  it  ?" 

"Well,  you  ought  to  know,"  Van  Bibber  an 
swered,  "  whether  I  am  to  be  condoled  with  or 
not.  I'm  certainly  not  to  be  congratulated." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  she  said,  smiling. 

"  Oh,  well,  then,"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief,  "it's  probably  all  right.  Only  I  thought 
you  would  have  received  it  by  this  time,  and  if 
you  had,  I  wanted  to  explain.  But  if  you  haven't 
received  it  you  probably  won't  now,  and  so  I 
needn't  say  anything  about  it." 

"  Received  what  ?"  asked  Miss  Norries,  with  a 
perplexed  laugh.  "But,"  she  added,  "if  you 
don't  wish  to  speak  of  it  we  will  talk  of  some 
thing  I  do  understand.  Oh,  you  mean  the  pack 
age  of  books  you  sent  me.  I  ought  to  have  writ 
ten  you  about  them.  They  were  just  the  ones  I 
wanted.  I  was  so  very — " 

"  Books  !  no,"  said  Van  Bibber,  with  disgust. 
"It's  a  letter,"  he  blurted  out.  "Some  one  told 
me — at  least  I  happened  to  find  out — that  some 
one  sent  you  an  anonymous  letter  about  me. 
And  I  thought  you  might  have  received  it,  and — " 


220  THE    EXILES,  AND    OTHER    STORIES 

He  stopped  in  some  confusion,  for  he  liked  Miss 
Norries  better  than  he  did  the  other  women,  and 
he  found  it,  for  some  reason,  harder  to  talk  to 
her  about  the  letter  than  to  those  others. 

"  Yes,  I  received  it,"  she  said. 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment  with  startled  sur 
prise. 

"No!"  he  exclaimed.  "You  don't  say  so! 
You  did  receive  it?  Well,  but  then  —  I  don't 
uaderstand.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  ?" 

"  Tell  you  what  ?"  said  Miss  Norries,  gently, 
but  with  some  hauteur.  "  Why  should  I  speak 
to  you  of  it?  I  do  not  see  that  it  concerns  you. 
It  was  an  anonymous  letter  addressed  to  me,  and 
I  threw  it  in  the  fire."  She  looked  at  him  inquir 
ingly  for  a  moment,  and  then  turned  her  attention 
to  the  falling  snow  against  the  window. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Van  Bibber,  thinking  very 
fast  and  talking  to  make  time,  "  but  the  letter 
was  about  me,  you  know,  and  suggested — that  is, 
it  put  me  in  rather  an  unpleasant  light." 

The  girl  gave  a  slight  laugh  of  annoyance  and 
stood  up.  "  I  fail  to  see  how  it  concerns  you," 
she  said.  "It  was  insulting  to  me,  that's  all.  I 
did  not  consider  it  further  than  that.  What  it 
said  about  you  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with 
it  that  I  can  see.  All  that  I  could  understand 
was  that  some  one  had  tried  to  annoy  me  by  send 
ing  me  an  anonymous  letter."  She  stopped  and 
smiled.  "  You  must  have  a  rather  poor  opinion 
of  yourself  and  your  friends  if  you  think  they 


AN    ANONYMOUS    LETTER  2'3t 

consider  you  and  anonymous  letters  with  equal 
seriousness.  Now  you  have  to  go,"  she  added, 
"or  I  shall  be  late.  Thank  you  ever  so  much 
for  the  books,  and  come  in  to-morrow  early,  and 
tell  me  what  you  think  about  them  ;  but  now  I 
really  must  hurry,  so  good-bye." 

Van  Bibber  put  his  hat  firmly  on  his  head  as 
he  went  down  the  steps,  and  then  turned  and 
gazed  at  the  closed  door  of  the  house  he  had  just 
left  with  a  look  of  settled  bewilderment.  "  Well," 
he  said,  with  a  sigh,  "  it's  all  part  of  the  day's 
work,  I  suppose.  For  which,"  he  added,  impres 
sively,  "  Travers  will  have  to  pay." 

A  long  dinner  and  a  large  open  fire  in  the  al 
most  deserted  club  had  melted  his  anger  by  ten 
o'clock  to  such  a  degree  that  Travers  ventured  to 
ask  for  the  details  of  the  day's  adventure,  and 
Van  Bibber  was  so  far  pacified  as  to  give  them. 

"  Well,  I  must  say,"  declared  Travers,  rubbing 
his  knees  and  gazing  with  much  satisfaction  into 
the  open  fire,  "it  turned  out  to  be  a  very  interest 
ing  experiment,  didn't  it  ?  But  it  hasn't  proved 
anything  that  I  can  see.  I  don't  see  that  it  has 
shown  which  of  the  girls  cares  the  most  about 
you,  has  it  ?  What  do  you  think  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Van  Bibber,  lowering  his 
voice  and  glancing  over  his  shoulder.  "  Which 
do  you  think,  now  ?" 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

AN     INITIAL     FINE     OF     25     CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


DEC    5    1932 


JAN  U  1936 
NOV  1H936 


NOV  11  1941M 
Oct4'48JC 


MAR  3  11953 

23Apr'58JT 
REC'D  LD 

APR    91958 


LD  21-50wi-8,'32 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


